CHANT* 
COMMUNAL 


HORACE  TRAUBEL 


TH€ 

UNIVERSITY  Of  CALIFORNIA 
LIBRARY 


CHANTS   COMMUNAL 


CHANTS 
COMMUNAL 


HORACE    TRAUBEL 


SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 
BOSTON:   1904 


Copyright)  1904.,  by 
Horace  Traubel 


Publisbtd  November,  1904 


Plates  by  Rose  Valley  Press 

Presswork  by  Geo.  H.  Ellis  Co.,  Boston,  U.S. A 


DEDICATING  THESE  PAGES 

Worn  with  the  burdens  of  rebellious  years, 
Across  the  sea's  scan  matching  birth  with  death, 
Like  shtps  sky  sailed  that  earthward  come  no  more, 
Love's  dreams  must 'vanish  down  the  edge  of  sight, 
All  spent  ahead  where  life  will  follow  on : 
Celestial  children,  soon  beyond  my  reach , 
Entering  the  unseen  port  to  wait  for  me. 


OPTIMOS 

In  some  faces  I  meet  I  see  vice  rampant  and  virtue  veiled, 

In  some  faces  I  meet  I  see  virtue  smiling  and  vice  curtained, 

In  vice  I  know  vice,  in  virtue  I  know  virtue,  I  stretch  the  boundaries  of 

neither, 

I  stand  apart  not  to  judge  but  to  witness  : 
I  hold  no  discourse  with  fragments,  supposing  them  complete  men  and 

women, 
To  each  I  accord  my  whole  faith  and  from  each  I  receive  in  full  stream 

the  returning  tide. 

Is  it  my  call  to  set  men  apart,  good,  bad,  indifferent  ? 
Is  it  my  part  to  sentence  man  for  one  sin  or  pardon  him  for  one  virtue  ? 
Is  it  my  part  to  distrust  the  tree  at  its  roots  because  its  leaves  in  the  fall  are 

dead  ? 
Is  it  on  my  palette  to  color  the  sun  ?     Can  I  pour  from  my  garden-pot 

rain-falls  and  sea-drifts  ? 

Back  of  me  are  a  thousand  friendly  arms  holding  me  to  modest  judgment, 
Before  me  are  as  many  thousand  assurances  demanding  that  I  give  men, 

women,  myself,  time  for  fulfilment. 
I  have  toiled  on  stony  roads,  the  hot  sun  overhead,  in  my  heart  the  northern 

ice, 

In  the  winter's  night  the  snow  beat  across  my  face,  the  north  winds  ac 
cused  my  faith,  in  my  heart  the  tropic  heat. 


A  o  rr  «*y  o  o 
^  v?  O  tf  O  O 


The  word  you  hear  from  my  lips  is  but  an  emissary, 

The  word  is  not  me,  it  but  announces  me — 

The  song   I    hear   from   the  illustrious  woman  is   not   the   song  of  her 

heart : 
Underneath  the  song  which  the  audience  applauds  I  hear  the  real  song 

framed  in  her  immortal  desires. 
The  artist  paints  his  picture,  it  is  honorably  hung,  it  receives  the  prize  of 

the  salon, 
Is  the  artist  here  in  this  paint  and  canvas?     Lo  !  as  I  look  these  vanish, 

a  dim  beckoning  figure  appears,  I  follow. 
I  would  say,  do  not  let  this  mystery  worry  you — 
At  its  heart  this  mystery  is  revelation,  in  its  final  solution  it  offers  a  cup 

benign, 
If  these  things  I   see  are  all  that   is   to  be  seen   I  too  would  seek  the 

roadside  and  dissolve  myself  in  grief, 
But  these  things  I  see  are  only  forerunners,  signals,  flags,  standards  raised 

whose  significance  is  yet  to  be  known, 
I  use  them,  sec  them  used,  as  I  eat  my  dinner  at  noonday,  joyously,  not 

too  much  dwelling  upon  it, 

They  are  ships  to  sail  me  forth,  wings  for  flight,  feet  for  marches, 
They  are  lingerings  this  side,  arrested  deeds,  hesitated  heroisms,  shamed 

fears, 
They  hav?  no  apologies  to  offer,  they  are  as  truly  a  part  of  the  perfect 

whole  as  the  whole  is  consistent  with  itself. 
As  I  look  out  of  these  windows — as  I  pass  where  men  crowd,  where  this 

silent  man  is  alone, 
As  I  take  solace  of  degradation  and  bring  to  lives  condemned  eloquent 

passwords  to  the  future, 

As  I  decline  to  sit  on  this  bench  as  judge  over  any  man  or  any  object, 
As  I  stand  not  indifferent  to  any  thing  nor  as  a  spectator  looking  at  some 
thing  outside  myself, 

As  cloud-barriers  do  not  distress  me — the  cloud,  my  sun  its  creator, 
As  I  am  re-born  in  every  person  I  meet,  every  event,  every  starburst, 
As  I  can  be  severely  arraigned  by  myself,  never  by  any  other, 
So  do  I  melt  all  coined  gold  into  earth-veins  again,  render  all  bricks  back 

into  clay-beds,  return  all  stones  to  their  quarries,  that  men  may  meet 

men  everywhere  without  interferences — 
So,  in  all  the  faces  I  see,  maimed,  passion-bruted,  hounded,  whatever  the 

cursory  veils  they  bear, 

All  bringing  to  me  my  own  self  again  and  again,  only  in  other  dress, 
I  am  recognized,  welcomed. 


THE  CHANTS 

FOREVER  FIRST  OF  ALL,  2 

There  is  no  early  or  late,  6 

The  boy  comes  along,  12 

Because  we  love,  77 

The  builder  sings,  21 

The  world  as  it  is,  23 

Of  many  voices  one  voice,  27 

God  up  there  somewhere  cries,  J7 

Said  the  master  of  men,  36 

When  the  enjoiner  is  enjoined,  40 

The  men  who  cry  and  keep  on,  44 

The  blood  of  the  martyrs,  49 

What  is  the  use  ?  5J 

You,  civilization,  who  are  so  very  big,  59 

There  is  no  escape,  64 

If  justice  is  impossible,  69 

I  look  defeat  full  in  the  face,  7J 

Of  one  profit  and  loss,  78 

Swear  that  you  will  call  out  loud,  81 

What  is  all  the  noise  about  ?  86 

AND  THE  HEART  OF  THE  MATTER  IS  HEART,  94 

For  all  the  world,  98 


When  I  see  how  slow  you  are, 

The  air  is  close,  109 

The  storm  breaks,  775 

Clear  weather  again,  7^7 

When  you  decide  to  have  it  done, 


Way  off  somewhere, 

What  is  your  own, 

What  men  might  be,  142 

For  the  sake  of  life,  146 

Do  you  not  see,  dear  brother  ?  757 

After  everything  else  is  paid,  755 

I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you,  161 

I  am  going  to  laugh,  16$ 

What  can  I  do  ?  770 

Will  you  be  ready  ?  775 

I  want  to  be  counted,  179 

You  will  say  it  to  yourself,  183 

AND  IT  ALL  AMOUNTS  TO  THIS,  IQO 


THE   CHANTS 


FOREVER  VlRST 
OF  ALL 


I  can  wait. 

The  world  has  waited  long  for  me,  I  can  wait  for  the  world, 

Justice  has  waited  long  for  me,  I  can  wait  for  justice, 

Love  has  waited  long  for  me,  O  such  love's  love  of  passion,  and  I  can  wait 

for  love,  O  such  love's  love  of  passion  ! 
I  can  wait,  O  beautiful  assurance — I  can  wait, 
Wait  while  things  go  wrong  until  they  go  right, 
Wait  while  death  seeds  life  until  life  seeds  death, 
Wait  while  men  weep  until  men  laugh, 
I  can  wait,  I  can  wait,  I  can  wait, 
And  while  waiting  can  love. 


CHANTS'  'COMMUNAL 

FORE  VER  Forever  first  of  all  is  justice.  Is  love.  Not 
FIRST  the  food  you  eat.  Not  the  clothes  you  wear. 
OF  ALL  Not  the  luxuries  you  enjoy.  But  justice. 
Everything  must  stand  aside  for  justice.  You  have  a 
trade  and  you  think  your  trade  comes  before  justice.  You 
are  a  man  of  business  and  you  think  that  business  comes 
before  justice.  Yes,  before  love.  You  practice  a  profes 
sion.  Your  profession  comes  before  justice.  Fatal  fal 
lacy.  Justice  stands  first.  Justice  precedes  all  the  wit 
nesses  of  life.  Justice  is  the  only  final  witness  to  life. 
You  may  satisfy  every  other  claim.  But  nothing  is  done  for 
life  until  justice  is  satisfied.  You  have  ordered  your  life. 
But  you  have  left  no  room  for  justice.  You  have  taken  all 
the  details  into  account.  But  you  have  not  taken  the  whole 
into  account.  You  have  forgotten  or  forsworn  justice. 
And  justice  is  forever  first  of  all.  Justice  is  the  only  thing 
that  takes  care  of  all.  Justice  speaks  the  only  universal 
tongue.  Anything  short  of  justice  is  parley,  apology  or 
flight.  The  human  spirit  owes  itself  a  supreme  debt. 
The  debt  of  justice.  Justice  is  the  common  providence. 
Look  for  justice.  When  you  see  justice  you  do  not  see  rul 
ers.  You  do  not  see  bonds  bearing  interest.  You  do  not 
see  lands  paying  rent.  You  do  not  see  the  storekeeper  pock 
eting  profits.  You  see  men  refusing  margins  and  botmties. 
You  see  men  refusing  to  subject  other  men  to  their  talents. 
Justice  declares  that  talent  shall  not  buy  and  sell.  It  grants 
talent  one  privilege.  Surrender.  Talent  does  not  belong  to 
the  individual.  It  belongs  to  all.  Justice  is  first  of  all. 
It  starts  man  with  man  on  the  square.  It  keeps  the  race  on 


FOREVER  FIRST  OF  ALL 

loyal  terms  with  itself.  It  gives  life  general  not  special 
sanctions.  What  is  best  your  own  is  more  than  best  the  in- 
heritance  of  the  race.  I  cannot  separate  my  personal  gifts 
from  the  impersonal  treasure.  From  justice.  For  justice  is 
forever  first  0}  all.  I  know  what  the  professional  logicians 
say.  Justice  is  not  logic.  What  the  preacher  says  when 
he  faces  the  money  in  his  parish.  Justice  is  not  religion. 
What  the  statesmen  say  in  their  cabinets.  Justice  is  not 
politics.  And  when  the  doctor  is  filling  me  with  drugs  he 
says  justice  is  not  medicine.  And  when  the  painter  is  paint 
ing  a  picture  for  fame  or  for  money  he  says  that  justice  is  not 
art.  And  when  the  poet  has  dedicated  his  verses  to  a  pa 
tron  he  says  that  justice  is  not  song.  And  when  the  law 
yer  lies  in  his  brief  he  says  that  justice  is  not  law.  And 
when  the  tradesman  hogs  his  excesses  he  says  that  justice  is 
not  trade.  And  when  the  landlord  evicts  a  tenant  he  says 
that  justice  is  not  rent.  And  even  when  the  workman  ga 
thers  in  his  wages  he  says  that  justice  is  not  hire.  And  so 
we  have  reduced  life  to  bargain  and  sale.  All  are  not  giv 
ing  life  for  life.  Each  man  giving  his  all  for  every  other 
man  '$  all.  But  each  man  is  making  the  sharpest  dicker  he 
can  for  life.  Getting  the  most  he  can  get  of  life  for  the  least 
he  must  give  of  life.  And  this  adjustment  is  the  current  ad 
justment  of  religion,  of  art  and  of  law.  This  is  what  the 
world  calls  logic.  This  is  what  the  world  calls  righteous 
ness.  And  when  I  come  along  cry  ing  for  justice.  Weeping 
for  justice.  My  heart  filled  with  sorrow  seeing  the  lack  of 
justice.  Filled  with  elation  seeing  the  inevitability  of  just 
ice.  They  are  all  at  my  heels  decrying  my  logic.  The 

3 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

priest  is  at  my  heels.  The  statesman  is  at  my  heels.  The 
poet  is  at  my  heels.  The  artist  is  at  my  heels.  All  the  sell 
ers  and  buyers  are  at  my  heels.  Even  the  wagemen,  the 
innocents  transgressed,  are  at  my  heels.  And  I  barely 
escape  with  my  life.  And  yet  justice  is  forever  first  of 
all. 

I  am  an  alarmist  for  justice.  I  am  an  assurer  of  justice. 
You  come  to  me  bringing  tribute.  Science  comes  bringing 
tribute.  A  rt  comes  with  its  dreams  full.  Music  comes  with 
its  lips  full.  Trade  comes  with  its  coffers  full.  But  do  you 
bring  justice?  You  can  learn  things  and  teach  things. 
But  can  you  learn  and  teach  justice  ?  Reft  of  justice  all  life 
is  the  strophe  and  antistrophe  of  emptiness.  Science  is  empty 
without  justice.  I  think  that  you  have  worked  in  vain 
painting  your  canvas.  For  you  have  not  put  justice  there. 
And  justice  alone  is  what  will  fill  your  canvas.  And  every 
product  of  art,  and  all  theory  and  speculation,  and  all  meta 
physical  learning,  must  be  empty,  empty,  forever  empty, 
without  justice.  I  do  not  say  justice  is  logical.  But  I  say 
justice  is  justice.  I  do  not  say  civilization  is  not  civilization. 
Let  it  be  civilization.  I  will  not  quarrel  with  you  about 
words.  But  I  say  that  as  long  as  civilization  is  not  justice 
it  might  as  well  be  nothing.  It  is  nothing.  You  think  so 
ciety  can  be  society  with  half  of  society  forgotten  or  trespassed. 
Justice  forgets  no  one.  Invades  no  one.  To  justice  there  is 
no  villain.  To  justice  there  is  no  victim.  Nor  therefore 
any  victor.  To  justice  there  is  a  common  soul  from  which 
all  personal  souls  emerge  and  to  which  all  personal  souls  go 
for  restoration.  We  are  not  millions  of  beings  owing  many 


FOREVER  FIRST  OF  ALL 

debts.  We  are  all  of  one  being  owing  one  debt.  This  may 
not  be  logic.  Or  religion.  Or  statecraft.  Or  science.  Or 
anything  the  parsimony  of  the  single  consciousness  can  name. 
But  it  is  justice.  A  nd justice  is  forever  first  of  all. 

Be  prac 
tical.  Be  practical.  Be  practical.  Say  all  the  lord  high 
gods  of  the  regime.  Be  as  I  am,  says  the  religion  that  dares 
not.  Be  as  I  am,  says  the  art  that  dares  not.  Be  as  I  am, 
says  the  lover  who  dares  not.  And  the  boss  says,  Be  as  I 
am.  And  every  man  on  top  says9  Be  as  I  am.  And  I  am 
saddest  sometimes  when  I  hear  even  the  slave  say,  Be  as  I 
am.  And  wherever  I  go  I  hear  voices.  And  the  voices 
all  say,  Be  as  we  are.  What  is  it  all  for?  I  am  to  be 
logical.  Be  logical,  says  the  world,  and  collect  your  rent. 
Be  logical  and  hoard  your  gains.  Be  logical  and  sing  false 
songs.  Yes,  paint  false  pictures.  Yes,  preach  lying  ser 
mons.  Be  logical.  Get  on  somebody's  back.  Oppress. 
Starve.  Rend.  Murder.  Only  be  logical.  Who  is  to 
care  who  is  to  suffer?  Logic  will  answer  for  all  reproach. 
Justice  would  be  all  right  if  it  was  not  for  logic.  But  logic 
supplants  justice.  Logic  is  any  wrong  that  exists.  Logic 
is  the  lie  of  the  liar.  Logic  is  the  private  greed  of  trade. 
Logic  is  the  ship  that  puts  out  on  the  pirate  seas.  Logic  is 
cruel  in  the  bite  of  the  economic  north  wind.  Logic  finds 
room  for  all  the  wrongs.  But  logic  finds  no  room  for  the 
rebel.  No  room  for  protest.  No  room  for  the  sentiment  of 
a  universal  love.  For  justice.  A  nd  yet  your  love  is  forever 
first  of  all.  I  have  thought  that  justice  is  the  only  logic. 
That  the  land  lords  and  the  money  lords  and  the  profit  lords 

5 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

are  not  logical.  That  the  priests  and  the  poets  and  the  sub 
orners  anywhere  are  not  logical.  That  only  the  cry er  for 
justice  is  at  last  logical.  That  though  my  brain  may  not 
weigh  so  many  ounces  and  my  body  measure  so  many  inches 
I  am  built  in  noble  proportions  if  I  am  the  size  and  make 
of  justice.  That  men  may  not  admire  me.  That  men  may 
hate  my  cry.  My  cry  as  I  go  forth  crying  for  justice.  But 
that  if  I  answer  the  questions  of  justice  logic  will  endorse  my 
measure  and  acknowledge  the  melody  of  my  accent.  I  am 
not  willing  to  follow  logic  into  its  ambushes.  The  logic  of 
history  is  the  proprietor.  The  ascendant  owner  and  the  de 
scendant  slave.  Somebody  always  very  high  up  for  many 
somebodies  very  low  down.  Logic  is  the  crack  of  a  whip. 
Logic  is  the  lockout  and  the  strike.  Logic  is  the  gun  and 
war.  Logic  is  hate.  At  least  the  professors  tell  us  so. 
Logic  perpetuates  the  antithesis  of  broadcloth  and  rags. 
Logic  has  two  sides  to  its  shield.  On  the  one  side  overplus 
and  on  the  other  side  want.  Logic  has  one  foot  on  a  throne 
and  one  foot  in  the  gutter.  At  least  the  professors  tell  us  so. 
A  nd  their  kind  of  history  tells  us  so.  But  I  have  thought 
that  justice  is  the  only  logic.  That  justice  is  forever  first 
of  all. 

THERE  IS  There  is  no  early  or  late.  There  is 
NO  EARLY  only  now.  There  is  only  faith.  Do 
OR  LA  TE  not  tell  me  that  faith  is  all  right  for  the 
day  after  tomorrow  but  is  of  no  use  today.  Do  not 
tell  me  that  truth  is  truth  but  that  truth  is  not  imminent. 
Do  not  tell  me  that  love  is  waiting  for  a  right  time  yet 

6 


THERE  IS  NO  EARLY  OR  LATE 

to  come.  That  love  knows.  But  that  love  must  not  act. 
Knowledge,  you  say,  is  for  the  present.  Action  is  for 
the  future.  Do  not  come  to  me  confessing  moral  bank 
ruptcy.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  project  yourself  beyond 
your  dream.  But  as  soon  as  you  have  prayed  I  expect 
you  to  leave  your  closet.  Your  time  for  service  is 
near.  Your  way  of  life  is  to  live.  You  are  on  trial 
with  yourself  the  instant  you  are  born  into  the  faith.  It 
is  losing  business  for  you  to  wait  to  be  told  the  crea 
tive  moment  in  which  to  act.  To  schedule  yourself. 
To  trick  your  soul  by  postponements.  You  contend 
that  the  world  is  not  ready.  To  faith  the  world  is  al 
ways  ready.  It  is  not  your  place  to  wait  until  the  world 
is  ready.  It  is  your  place  to  help  make  it  ready.  Faith 
is  best  faith  in  the  contemporary  now.  Faith  has  no 
anxieties.  It  carries  no  watch.  It  never  concerns  it 
self  about  the  hours  of  the  day.  To  faith  all  hours  are 
one  hour.  The  hour  to  speak  words.  The  hour  to  do 
deeds. 

There  is  no  early  or  late.  While  you  are  argu 
ing  with  yourself  love  is  betrayed.  While  you  are  asking 
yourself  whether  your  faith  asserted  today  would  help 
your  father's  fortune.  While  you  are  asking  yourself 
whether  your  faith  asserted  in  society  may  not  hurt  its 
broadcloth.  While  you  are  asking  yourself  whether  the 
time  may  not  come  when  faith  may  be  faith  without 
threatening  industrial  values.  While  you  look  back. 
And  round  you.  And  ahead.  Time  is  betrayed.  And 
time  is  faith.  When  faith  takes  out  its  watch  you  know 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

that  it  has  lost  its  nerve.  When  faith  consults  the  time 
table  you  know  that  it  is  getting  ready  for  retreat. 
Faith  puts  off  no  voyage.  Hurries  no  voyage.  Does 
not  miss  its  cues.  Always  knows  where  to  go  because 
never  going  anywhere.  Anywhere  in  territory  or  time. 
Just  stays  about  where  it  happens  to  be  singing  its 
song.  Just  stays  about  making  the  most  it  can  of 
the  immediate  call.  Do  you  think  faith  puts  its  ear  to 
the  ground  listening  for  something  far  off?  Faith  does 
not  need  the  far  off.  Does  not  fear  the  beyond.  It 
needs  today's  job.  It  will  meet  every  tomorrow  in  the 
same  spirit.  Every  tomorrow  that  becomes  today  finds 
itself  the  chosen  day  of  faith.  Do  you  think  faith  goes 
inquiring  among  its  friends  for  good  will  and  counsel  ? 
Do  you  think  that  faith  is  faith  because  of  something 
that  someone  else  will  do  for  it  or  ceases  to  be  faith  be 
cause  its  friends  advise  delay?  Faith  is  never  delay. 
Delay  we  call  by  another  name.  Cowardice,  who 
knows?  Or  treachery,  who  knows?  Faith  is  not 
something  dead  in  the  mind.  It  is  something  alive  in 
life. 

So  many  of  you  have  come  to  me  with  the  same 
question.  You  agree  with  me.  The  commune  is  so 
beautiful.  It  ultimates  industry  and  property.  It  is 
the  final  fruitful  bow  of  promise.  But.  And  that  but 
you  build  very  high  and  very  broad.  You  take  it  and 
keep  it  ahead  of  you  so  that  it  fills  the  road.  You  can 
not  pass.  You  cannot  climb  over.  And  then  you  sit 
down  in  the  dust  despondently  and  declare  that  the  ir- 

8 


THERE  IS  NO  EARLY  OR  LATE 

relevant  world  is  not  prepared  for  you.  But  what  have 
you  got  to  do  with  the  irrelevancy  of  the  world  ?  I  do 
not  ask  the  world  to  be  prepared.  I  ask  you  to  be  pre 
pared.  And  you  are  not  prepared.  You  have  only 
learned  the  language  of  love.  You  will  yet  be  prepared. 
You  will  learn  the  life  of  love.  When  you  are  prepared 
you  will  burn  all  your  ships  behind  you.  You  will  not 
be  satisfied  until  you  see  your  last  ship  gone  up  in 
smoke.  Until  the  last  supposition  of  delay  and  escape 
is  destroyed.  You  will  not  wait  upon  the  summons  of 
the  world.  The  world  will  wait  upon  your  summons. 
Wait.  Forever  wait.  The  world  will  never  summon 
you.  You  must  summon  yourself.  You  must  sum 
mon  yourself  in  tones  that  you  cannot  refuse.  There 
you  are,  tens  of  thousands  of  you  everywhere,  confirm 
ing  yourselves  in  the  disease  of  delay.  You  know 
where  you  should  go.  But  you  are  afraid  to  start.  You 
hug  your  professorships.  You  hold  yourselves  down 
tight  in  editorial  chairs.  You  tie  yourselves  in  double 
knots  to  trade.  You  are  lawyers  and  anchor  in  the  law. 
Doctors  and  moor  in  medicine.  Painters  of  pictures 
and  wrap  yourselves  in  canvas0  You  write  poems  and 
are  lost  in  a  routine  of  words.  Whatever  you  are  that 
you  swear  you  must  continue  to  be.  In  spite  of  your 
faith  continue  to  be.  You  know  things  must  change. 
That  we  are  verging  towards  the  windup  of  the  com 
petitive  regime.  But  you  are  continually  consulting 
your  clocks  and  setting  their  hands  back.  Like  a  pet 
tifogger  going  into  court  and  sophisticating  for  delay. 

9 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

For  delay.  Yet  delay  is  death.  No  faith  can  long  sur 
vive  the  treason  of  delay.  The  time  will  come,  you 
say.  The  present  hour  is  a  little  too  soon,  you  say. 
But  to  men  in  your  mood  the  too-soons  make  up  the 
whole  of  life.  You  think  there  is  something  in  the 
way.  There  is  nothing  in  the  way  that  you  have  not 
put  in  the  way  yourselves.  You  are  in  the  way.  You 
alone.  Nothing  else.  You  are  grit?  Then  you  will 
hurl  yourselves  out  of  the  way.  You  will  press  on. 

You 

complain  that  I  ask  you  to  be  heroes.  I  do  not.  I  ask 
you  to  be  yourselves.  You  will  never  be  yourselves  in 
this  humbug  peace.  You  will  only  be  yourselves  in  the 
genuine  contests  of  justice.  Delay  stagnates.  Move 
ment  purifies.  You  will  not  be  yourselves  well  profes- 
sored  or  well  officed  or  well  anything  that  persuades 
you  to  put  off  your  departure.  You  will  only  be  your 
selves  when  once  you  get  your  duds  on  your  backs  and 
say  goodbye  to  the  past.  Only  then.  Why  should  you 
masquerade  as  courtiers  ?  Why  should  you  continue  to 
hang  around  the  court?  Why  should  you  stay  in  the 
glitter  while  your  prohibited  souls  call  to  you  from  the 
outside  ?  Let  me  tell  you.  There  is  no  danger  outside. 
There  is  danger  in  the  palace.  Fly.  You  hold  your 
heads  up  in  a  confident  way  as  if  nothing  had  hap 
pened.  Let  me  tell  you  that  something  ruinous  has 
happened.  Something  shadowed  by  the  arch  of  the 
last  tragedy.  You  have  murdered  yourselves.  You 
suffer  that  worst  fate  of  all  fates.  To  be  dead  while 

10 


THERE  IS  NO  EARLY  OR  LATE 

living.     Sentenced  to  betray  life.     You  have  survived 
your  own  deaths. 

There  is  no  early  or  late.  Your  eyes 
are  open.  You  see.  But  you  are  silent.  Will  you 
speak  the  word?  Or  will  you  bury  that  unspoken 
word  in  your  heart  and  put  a  gravestone  over  it?  Are 
you  to  be  equal  to  yourself?  Or  are  you  to  confess 
that  you  are  smaller  than  yourself?  You  saw.  Then 
you  listened  for  voices.  You  should  have  been  deaf. 
But  you  listened  for  voices.  Any  man  who  listens  may 
hear.  So  you  heard.  You  should  have  listened  for 
nothing.  Then  you  would  have  heard  one  voice.  One 
superb  saving  voice.  Your  own  voice.  But  you  lis 
tened  for  voices.  And  voices  crowded  your  ears.  The 
church  had  a  voice.  And  its  voice  said :  Wait.  And 
the  state  had  a  voice.  And  the  bank  had  a  voice.  And 
all  the  professions  had  voices.  And  all  the  stolen  incre 
ments  and  legislated  privileges  had  voices.  And  all  the 
voices  said :  Wait.  These  eminent  voices  of  retrogres 
sion.  And  obscure  voices,  nameless,  numberless,  hiss 
ing  and  groaning.  All  were  voices.  And  all  the  voices 
said :  Wait.  There  was  one  little  voice  in  all  this  bois 
terous  medley  that  said :  Go  on.  But  you  did  not  hear 
it.  And  so  the  waits  had  their  victory.  And  now  you 
are  dead  and  buried  in  your  own  body.  And  there  is 
a  stone  over  your  grave.  And  there  is  only  one  word 
on  the  stone.  Wait.  That  word  is  all  that  is  left  to 
immortalize  you.  That  word  is  all  that  is  left  to  tell 
the  story  of  your  battle  not  too  strenuously  fought. 

11 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

Of  your  defeat  too  easily  welcomed.  Do  you  not  see 
through  your  delays,  dear  brother  ?  Do  you  not  see  that 
only  one  thing  counts  ?  Faith  counts.  Nothing  else 
counts.  And  to  faith  there  is  no  early  or  late. 

THE  BOY  If  it  was  not  for  the  boys,  or  for  the  boy 
COMES  left  over  in  the  man,  everything  would  al- 
ALONG  ways  remain  about  where  it  is.  We  draw 
a  line  up  against  which  we  halt  the  boy.  The  boy  walks 
straightway  over.  He  does  not  defy  us.  He  does 
not  hear  us.  The  boy  has  eye  and  ear  for  sights  and 
sounds  ahead.  But  no  cries  from  the  past  arrest  his 
impatient  feet.  Every  boy  brings  the  youth  of  the  race 
back  again.  The  hope  you  have  lost  your  boy  re 
covers.  When  you  say  rebellion  you  say  boy.  The 
boy  is  not  a  blank  wall.  He  is  an  open  way.  You  get 
rid  of  the  boy  at  your  peril.  You  cannot  save  your 
self  ?  The  boy  can  save  you.  You  can  go  to  bed  heavy 
with  sleep.  He  will  dream  for  you.  You  can  go  down 
town  and  trade  swindle  for  swindle  in  the  greed  of  the 
world.  He  will  study  and  play  and  be  honest  for 
you.  The  born  striker,  the  boy.  Have  you  ever  built 
a  wall  so  high  some  boy  could  not  climb  it?  Have  you 
ever  cried  a  no  so  deep  some  boy  could  not  spade  below 
it?  Have  you  ever  taught  any  religion,  or  any  philan 
thropy,  so  good  some  boy  could  not  better  it?  The 
rebellion  of  the  boy  is  the  salvation  of  the  man. 

If  injus 
tice  could  live  in  a  world  of  grown  men  it  would  feel 

12 


THE  BOY  COMES  ALONG 

safe.  Injustice  fears  the  cradle.  Injustice  is  not  afraid 
of  your  brain,  your  culture,  your  curiosity  or  your  logic. 
Injustice  is  afraid  of  the  boy.  The  boy  dreams.  And 
the  boy  believes  in  dreams.  Grown  men  dream,  too. 
But  they  are  less  apt  to  believe  in  their  dreams.  The 
boy  tries  fact  by  dream.  The  man  tries  dream  by  fact. 
That  is  what  makes  the  man  conservative  and  the  boy 
radical.  That  is  what  makes  the  man  the  apologist  and 
the  boy  a  menace.  The  boy  is  the  typical  striker.  He 
is  up  at  once  for  his  rights.  He  thinks  neither  of  fam 
ily  nor  society.  He  thinks  only  of  his  rights.  He  is 
not  a  compromiser.  He  reads  rules  out  of  the  limit  of 
letter  and  spirit.  Two  and  two  always  make  four. 
Ten  hours  are  ten  hours.  The  boy  is  a  democrat.  He 
resents  your  orders  screamed  down  from  some  ephem 
eral  elevation.  Who  is  any  boss  to  any  boy  that  any 
boss  should  bond  any  boy  to  slavish  service  ? 

Last  year 

it  was  the  boy  in  one  hundred  and  forty  seven  thousand 
men  who  went  in  anger  out  of  the  coal  mines.  This 
boy  called  capital  to  order.  There  may  be  ten  thousand 
men  to  face  your  problem.  What  are  the  ten  thousand 
to  do  ?  They  look  at  their  wage  checks.  They  look 
ahead  into  the  shadows  that  fall  upon  a  workless  man. 
They  may  be  sullen.  But  they  keep  to  their  work. 
So  the  problem  remains  a  problem.  So  injustice  rubs 
its  hands. 

The  boy  comes  along.     He,  too,  faces  the 
problem.     He  does  not  count  costs.     He  does  not  see 

13 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

the  shadows  ahead  or  any  shadows  behind.  He  sees 
only  light.  Everywhere  light.  What  is  any  problem 
to  any  man  who  stands  in  a  center  of  light?  The  boy  is 
illuminated.  He  refuses  to  dicker  with  conditions. 
"  I  will  make  a  few  conditions  of  my  own,"  he  says. 
He  stops  work.  He  will  not  drive  your  mules.  He 
will  not  carry  your  packages.  Your  messages.  He 
will  not  feed  your  presses.  He  goes  to  the  men  who 
despond  and  fortifies  their  hearts.  In  the  presence  of 
the  boy  the  problem  shrinks  and  disappears.  The  boy 
is  the  born  striker.  The  boy  is  unreasonable.  Yes. 
But  are  you  proud  of  the  reason  of  his  seniors  ?  I  watch 
him  as  he  faces  his  complex  life.  His  rights  and  re 
sponsibilities.  The  boy  is  quite  as  well  able  as  his  an 
cients  to  describe  the  squares  and  circles  of  justice. 
The  boy  is  not  infallible.  He  is  impudent,  vain  and 
dogmatic.  But  the  best  articles  of  courage  and  sacrifice 
come  to  the  jaded  conventions  through  the  boys.  The 
boys  make  you  mad.  But  they  also  make  you  happy. 
You  resent  the  crudeness  if  not  cruelty  of  their  oppo 
sition.  You  glorify  their  impervious  self  belief.  The 
only  thing  in  man  more  important  than  the  boy  is — well, 
there  is  nothing  more  important  than  the  boy.  The 
dream  of  philanthropy  is  the  boy  at  work  in  the  secu 
lar  heart.  When  you  appeal  for  justice  you  do  not  go 
to  the  stepping  off  place  and  endeavor  to  trim  the  joints 
of  old  age  back  to  battle  again.  You  appeal  to  the  boys. 
The  old  men  are  deaf  and  blind.  The  old  men  see 
sunsets  and  coffins.  The  boys  are  alive  in  all  their  five 

14 


THE  BOY  COMES  ALONG 

senses.  They  see  only  dawns  and  immortality.  The 
old  men  deal  in  postponements.  The  boys  are  disci 
ples  of  right  way. 

The  boy  makes  history  without  ifs, 
buts  and  peradventures.  The  boy  is  the  blow  direct. 
Jesus  untempled  the  temples  with  the  heat  and  heart  of 
a  boy.  Sixty  years  would  have  found  reasons  for  treat 
ing  the  money  changers  with  a  tactful  prudence.  But 
thirty  years  or  twenty  years  saw  only  the  evil  and  pressed 
without  wait  up  to  its  total  downfall.  The  world  is 
still  young  with  Jesus.  Jesus  was  boyhood  resisting 
the  invasions  of  the  Hebrew  plutocracies.  Some 
men  are  eternally  young.  We  think  the  most  significant 
compliment  we  can  pay  to  old  age  is  to  speak  of  its 
youth.  In  a  civilized  man  years  accumulate  no  burdens. 
Years  rather  lighten  his  load.  They  have  taught  him 
how  to  organize  life.  They  have  added  power  not 
weight.  There  is  something  wrong  with  any  civilization 
which  develops  grown  men  with  the  boy  left  out.  You 
might  just  as  well  be  dead  as  cease  to  be  a  boy.  The  boy 
looks  round  and  over  everything.  He  keeps  his  par 
ents,  his  neighbors,  his  civilization,  guessing.  He  turns 
short  corners.  He  refuses  to  do  things  in  regular  ways. 
When  you  think  you  have  got  him  on  the  spot  he  is 
somewhere  else.  When  you  reach  for  him  far  off  he 
stands  smiling  at  your  elbow.  When  you  speak  of  the 
impossible  he  goes  and  does  it.  When  you  qualify 
events  by  rote  and  rule  he  shows  you  how  big  events 
become  when  they  are  left  to  their  normal  impetus. 

15 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

The  boy  demands  room  for  life.  He  accepts  all  mar 
gins.  He  wanders  across  all  borders.  The  church 
and  the  state  do  not  exist  for  the  boy.  He  acknowl 
edges  religion  and  natural  law.  But  the  institutions  ap 
pal  him.  He  will  not  respect  your  police  rituals.  To 
maturity  all  life  is  watched,  restricted  and  under  a  con 
ditional  ban.  To  the  boy  all  guards  are  waived.  The 
boy  acquiesces  in  none  of  the  contingencies  of  the  stat 
ute.  See  life  alone,  he  says.  Life  can  be  trusted. 
Life  is  entitled  to  growth.  But  life  will  not  grow  in  the 
county  jail. 

Every  man  lives  ten  thousand  lives  all  by 
himself.  Yet  he  may  miss  all  life  if  in  the  ten  thousand 
the  boy  is  not  buoyantly  superior  and  triumphant. 
Bosses  dread  the  boys.  So  do  the  kings.  So  do  par 
liaments.  When  you  get  nasty  and  arrogant  with  the 
boys  remember  your  own  dreams.  You  may  have 
killed  the  boy  in  yourself.  That  was  your  business. 
Perhaps.  But  spare  the  boys  in  the  boys.  Let  every 
boy  grow  to  maturity  and  be  the  boy  still.  Let  thirty's 
manhood  open  into  fifty's  calm.  But  save  the  boy. 
The  real  boy  is  not  the  boy  who  dies  with  boyhood. 
He  is  the  boy  who  survives  all  revolutions  of  flesh  and 
spirit.  Why  should  not  the  boy  who  comes  through 
the  cradle  outlast  the  coffin  ?  Jesus  divined  the  boy 
when  he  said,  Come  little  children.  Whitman  divined 
the  boy  when  he  wrote,  There  was  a  child  went  forth. 
No  boy  in  Athens  was  ever  younger  than  the  old  So 
crates.  I  remember  that  Liebig  said  that  the  youngest 

16 


BECAUSE  WE  LOVE 

scholar  in  his  school  was  Liebig.  The  boy  is  enthusi 
asm.  He  is  chronic  fire.  His  fuel  is  exhaustless. 
His  light  never  dims.  If  you  grow  cold  in  faith  move 
up  near  the  boy.  Before  you  surrender  consult  the 
boy.  The  boy  will  not  preach  to  you  about  the  path 
of  escape.  The  boy  will  blaze  that  path. 

Did  you 

think  the  boy  was  young  or  old  ?  I  never  knew  the 
age  of  a  boy.  He  may  have  lived  ten  or  seventy  years. 
The  boy  does  not  cosy  himself  in  the  comfortable  years. 
He  is  unconscious  of  years.  The  boy  is  divinely  and 
forever  that  somewhat  in  the  cosmos  which  immortal 
izes  its  rebel  dreams.  The  boss,  the  master,  the  supe 
rior,  does  not  like  this  boy.  But  without  this  boy  social 
gravitation  would  find  itself  annulled. 

EEC  A  USE  Because  we  love.  Do  you  suppose  that 
WE  LOVE  our  blows  are  malign  ?  That  we  are  fight 
ing  because  we  love  fight?  That  we  derive  any  pleas 
ure  from  negation  ?  From  being  hated  ?  That  we  are 
bores  because  we  like  to  be  bores  ?  That  we  are  look 
ing  for  chances  to  be  gratuitously  rude  and  unruly? 
That  we  talk  on  purposely  long  after  we  are  done? 
That  we  refuse  to  talk  when  silence  is  a  crime  ?  That 
we  malevolently  quarrel  and  brawl  in  the  avenues  and 
incidents  of  experience  ?  Have  we  dedicated  our  lives 
to  this  cause  in  some  spirit  of  light  revolt?  You  do 
not  know  the  truth.  You  do  not  know  what  is  really 
at  the  back  of  it  all.  Why  we  are  severe  with  you. 

17 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

How  after  being  severe  we  go  home  and  weep.  How 
we  spend  long  nights  wrestling  with  you.  How  we 
spend  longer  nights  wrestling  with  ourselves.  Can  you 
not  see  that  we  would  rather  say  the  word  that  will 
please  you  than  the  word  that  will  give  you  grief?  But 
we  must  first  of  all  say  the  true  word.  The  true  word 
is  the  only  word.  And  the  true  word  is  just  as  much 
your  word  as  our  word.  You  may  not  know  it.  But 
it  is  your  word.  I  swear  to  you  it  is  your  word.  God 
knows  we  do  not  start  out  to  speak  false  words.  Words 
that  will  irretrievably  wound.  We  must  speak  words 
that  wound.  With  mediable  wounds  we  ward  off 
wounds  that  wound  to  the  death.  And  this  is  all  because 
we  love. 

Is  it  love  that  makes  the  present  world  ?  The 
world  of  parish  interests?  Is  Parry's  love  love?  Is 
Rockefeller's  love  also  love  ?  Is  this  the  best  that  love 
can  say  for  itself?  I  do  not  say  this  love  is  not  love. 
But  I  say  that  if  this  love  is  love  it  is  not  the  love  my 
lover  speaks.  I  will  destroy  such  love  with  a  love  that 
is  greater  than  itself.  I  will  impeach  such  love  again 
with  love.  I  will  make  it  explain.  I  will  call  it  to  ac 
count.  It  has  been  the  depository  of  a  trust.  How 
has  it  acquitted  itself  of  that  trust?  I  will  not  sully  the 
test  with  epithets.  I  will  only  call  this  older  love  to 
account.  I  will  not  convict  it  by  my  lips.  I  will  make 
it  convict  itself  with  its  own  lips.  I  will  not  be  cruel. 
I  will  only  call  for  a  report.  I  will  call  upon  interest 
for  a  report.  And  rent.  And  profit.  Yes,  any  priv- 

18 


BECAUSE  WE  LOVE 

ilege  that  transgresses  one  way  in  order  to  benefit  an 
other.  Any  social  compact  that  goes  short  with  the 
poor  in  order  to  go  long  with  the  rich.  You  will  not 
dare  say  no.  For  you  will  not  dare  say  you  do  not  be 
lieve  in  justice.  You  can  only  say :  This  is  not  justice. 
And  it  is  there  we  must  fight  the  issue  out.  What  is 
justice?  You  have  got  to  report  on  justice.  Bring 
wages  into  court  and  report  on  wages.  Will  high  wages 
bring  justice?  Or  is  justice  impossible  with  any  kind 
of  wages?  Would  a  better  Parry  bring  justice  or  is 
justice  impossible  with  any  kind  of  Parry?  If  all  who 
employ  and  all  who  are  employed  turned  saint  over 
night  justice  would  still  fall  short  of  justice.  Justice  is 
in  bond.  What  will  deliver  justice?  Hate?  Love? 
I  say:  Love's  hand  will  deliver.  A  hand  that  may 
need  to  be  severe.  But  a  hand  that  loves. 

Because  we 

love,  I  say  again.  Not  love  a  few.  Or  love  a  class. 
Or  some  church.  Or  some  petty  social  or  national  in 
terest.  Because  we  love  all.  For  no  solution  that 
would  not  be  a  solution  for  all  would  be  a  solution  for 
one.  As  long  as  we  do  not  solve  the  trouble  for  all 
we  do  not  solve  it  for  one.  It  will  forever  recur  until 
the  last  unit  is  enclosed  in  the  operation.  The  law  of 
love  is  not  a  law  for  a  parish.  A  law  for  one  day.  It 
is  a  law  for  the  whole  world.  For  forever.  The  law 
of  love  could  not  put  one  item  of  social  evil  under  ban 
or  under  approval.  As  if  things  wrong  stood  each 
alone.  As  if  the  law  of  one  was  not  the  law  of  every 

19 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

other.  Do  you  think  that  profit  stands  alone  in  the 
world?  That  landlordism  stands  alone?  That  Wall 
street  stands  alone?  That  you  could  march  a  mob 
into  Lombard  street  and  settle  the  riddle  there  alone? 
That  you  could  hit  out  at  random  and  bring  down  the 
disease  with  a  single  enemy?  Can  you  isolate  a  struct 
ure  from  its  detail  ?  Can  you  separate  the  body  from 
its  flesh  ?  So  many  things  need  to  be  done  in  order 
that  one  thing  may  be  done.  But  they  must  all  be 
done  for  the  one  result.  The  many  things  that  come 
from  the  same  root.  The  things  that  it  will  hurt  your 
feelings  to  have  disturbed.  But  they  must  be  done. 
They  may  be  done  roundabout.  They  may  be  done 
straight  to.  I  think  I  like  to  say  things  straight  to. 
They  must  be  said  with  love.  But  they  must  be  said. 
Eternally  said.  Said  to  be  understood.  I  know  you 
declare  it  is  useless.  That  the  thing  that  we  attack  is 
so  big.  That  the  thing  we  attack  it  with  is  so  little. 
The  big.  I  concede  it.  And  even  the  little.  I  concede 
it.  Yet  justice  is  bigger  than  big.  And  injustice  is 
littler  than  little.  And  if  our  unpretentious  word  is  the 
word  of  justice  it  is  not  awed  by  the  big  thing  it  is  to 
attack.  Justice  is  not  weighed  in  a  scale.  Or  measured 
by  a  surveyor.  It  is  not  scared  when  the  guns  go  off. 
When  the  millionaire  takes  account  of  stock.  When 
someone  reports  a  tumble  in  the  market.  Justice,  too, 
has  to  make  a  report.  But  it  does  not  have  to  make  a 
report  in  numbers  and  sizes.  It  reports  in  the  im 
mensities  of  ideas.  In  the  uptides  of  streams.  In  the 

20 


THE  BUILDER  SINGS 

ascents  of  infinite  spaces.  That  is  why  justice  is  never 
dismayed.  Why  no  parade  of  greatness  shakes  its 
claim.  Why  when  all  things  seem  to  go  against  it  just 
ice  does  not  dodge  or  retreat.  Why  justice  can  afford 
to  be  generous.  To  swallow  our  insults.  To  have  the 
figures  all  go  against  it.  To  have  Standard  Oil  against 
it.  To  have  the  last  issue  of  bonds  against  it.  Any 
thing.  And  may  still  keep  cool.  Still  keep  its  faith. 
Justice  can  wait.  And  we  can  wait  for  justice.  Be 
cause  we  love. 

THE  The  most  potent  war  is  peace.     But  apol- 

BUILDER  ogy  is  not  the  answer  of  peace.  Peace 
SINGS  invites  a  stern  retort.  It  is  out  of  the 
stubbornest  opposition  that  order  will  finally  emerge. 
Justice  is  order.  We  are  entangled  in  a  system  which 
leaves  us  to  the  chance  episodes  of  the  seasons.  This 
chaos  cannot  be  perpetuated.  Its  revel  must  pass. 
The  soul  demands  order.  Order.  Order.  Always 
order.  Theft  is  not  order.  Only  integrity  is  order. 
Per  cent  is  the  industrial  conqueror.  But  it  will  not 
survive  the  poison  of  its  own  success.  Nor  can  an 
income  half  bond  and  half  free  be  fixed.  And  yet, 
though  we  must  twist  the  crooked  back  to  the  straight, 
we  do  not  propose  to  hate  that  incident  of  history 
which  has  warped  the  general  will.  We  will  sing  at  our 
work.  We  will  repair  that  which  was  broken.  We  will 
rebuild  that  which  was  thrown  down.  But  we  will  not 
hate  the  destroyer.  We  will  sing  as  we  build.  And 

21 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

build  we  will.  The  children  cry  to  us,  and  we  build. 
The  old  men  and  women  cry  to  us,  and  we  build.  The 
stalwart  laborers  cry  to  us,  and  we  build.  We  take  all 
incomes  away  in  behalf  of  income.  We  see  all  pri 
vate  fortune  lapse  in  a  general  fund.  That  is  the 
way  we  build.  For  out  of  the  imperfect  we  will  build 
the  perfect.  And  out  of  a  race  of  men  and  women  and 
children  maimed  and  half  done  we  will  build  a  race  of 
men  and  women  and  children  unmarred  and  complete. 
But  we  will  always  sing.  For  the  workman  who  sings 
can  work.  Through  whatever  distress  can  work.  And 
though  the  hand  of  the  tyrant  is  heavy  we  will  not  admit 
that  it  crushes  our  faith.  And  no  blow  given  us  will  be 
returned.  We  will  only  love  and  build.  And  even  the 
lash  of  the  master  will  be  useful.  The  master  will  feel 
its  sharp  return.  For  we  know  that  if  we  could  not 
make  use  of  evil  we  could  not  make  use  of  good.  For 
there  is  no  barbarism  too  stubborn  to  be  turned  to  the 
uses  of  our  ideal. 

I  am  assailed  and  bleeding.  And  yet 
I  do  not  resent  assault.  And  why  should  I  not  bleed  ? 
For  I  am  so  intent  on  the  big  achievement  ahead  that  I 
am  not  worried  by  the  little  deterrents  around.  The 
beautiful  prospect  allures  me.  The  rehabilitated  bodies 
allure  me.  The  happier  faces  allure  me.  The  good 
earth  cleansed  allures  me.  I  see  that  no  man  will  after 
this  consent  to  tax  any  other  man  or  hoard  his  own  work. 
I  see  that  every  man  will  swear  himself  into  the  gen 
eral  service.  I  see  a  world  in  which  the  only  errands 

22 


THE  WORLD  AS  IT  IS 

are  errands  of  succor.  I  see  a  world  in  which  the  lips  of 
man  have  ceased  to  speak  of  property.  I  see  a  world 
in  which  farcical  social  maxims  now  celebrated  in  the 
orthodoxies  of  culture  have  given  place  to  the  simple 
doctrine  of  universal  ownership.  And  this  consumma 
tion  is  so  surely  within  sight  that  I  can  afford  to  wait  to 
have  it  come  and  can  afford  to  sing  as  I  wait.  It  is  not 
the  man  with  the  ideal  who  needs  to  rant  and  swear  and 
suspect.  It  is  the  man  who  sees  only  the  alien  present 
who  may  rant  and  and  swear  and  suspect.  For  we  live 
in  a  world  in  which  we  cannot  be  at  home.  But  we  are 
to  make  this  empty  world  full.  For  a  world  full  of 
homeless  people  is  of  all  worlds  emptiest.  But  when 
we  have  accomplished  our  miracle  earth  will  be  home 
enough  for  all.  And  that  miracle  we  will  effect.  For 
the  builder  is  building  his  home.  And  the  builder 
sings  as  he  builds. 

THE  The  world  as  it  is  is  a  world  of  conflict. 

WORLD  The  child  born  into  the  world  does  not  find 
AS  IT  IS  the  world  its  friend.  The  child  finds  the 
world  its  foe.  The  world  makes  it  hard  for  a  child  to 
be  born.  The  world  makes  it  harder  for  a  child  to  live 
than  to  be  born.  The  world  offers  an  ominous  passage 
to  those  who  cross  its  birthline.  The  world  as  it  is  is  rich 
enough  for  all.  And  yet  the  world  as  it  is  gives  riches 
to  but  few.  The  world  is  all  refusal  or  all  favor.  If 
you  catch  the  world  in  one  humor  it  will  spoil  you  with 
its  gifts.  If  you  catch  the  world  in  another  humor  it 

23 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

will  destroy  you  with  its  frosts.  Fathers  and  mothers 
view  their  children  with  alarm.  The  child  is  a  threat. 
Love  itself  is  a  peril.  The  world  promises  you  har 
vests.  But  few  can  survive  the  disastrous  springs  and 
summers  that  precede  the  harvests.  The  world  sends 
up  prayers  for  children.  But  when  the  children  appear 
the  world  does  not  protect  them.  The  world  drives 
children  to  the  treadmill.  The  world  takes  the  young 
sters  before  they  have  had  their  playtime  and  feeds 
them  without  remorse  to  the  commercial  maw.  And  the 
lives  of  these  children  are  served  up  to  you  in  interests, 
rents  and  profits.  The  world  invites  you  to  a  feast. 
Then  the  world  forbids  you  to  eat.  The  world  calls  you 
a  freeman.  Then  the  world  forces  you  to  crawl.  Man 
is  enslaved  to  his  meals  and  his  clothes.  His  breakfast 
threatens  his  dinner.  His  dinner  his  supper.  His  coat 
his  shoes.  The  world  as  it  is  ties  me  to  a  stick  in 
the  ground.  The  world  as  it  is  submits  me  to  its  vio 
lent  will.  I  am  dead  in  its  life.  I  fail  in  its  success. 
Always.  Always.  The  world  is  afraid  of  itself.  But 
what  does  the  world  after  all  know  of  itself?  It  has 
never  tried  itself.  It  has  never  given  men  half  a  chance. 
A  chance  to  mature  life.  To  escape  social  despotism. 
Man  has  sight  but  is  not  allowed  to  see.  Man  is  teased 
with  a  heritage  which  he  is  not  to  enjoy.  The  world 
has  upper  and  lower,  superior  and  inferior,  hirer 
and  hired,  boss  and  workman.  It  lacks  the  even  hand. 
The  world  turns  its  virtues  over  to  dreamland  and 
keeps  its  vices  for  everyday.  The  world  has  learned  how 

24 


THE  WORLD  AS  IT  IS 

to  do  things.  The  world  has  not  learned  what  to  do 
with  things  when  they  are  done.  The  world  has  in 
vented  a  word  with  which  to  insult  itself.  Pauper. 
Do  you  like  it?  Every  time  the  world  finds  use  for 
that  word  it  submits  to  its  own  whip.  That  word  is 
always  a  shadow.  It  falls  across  empty  tables  and  de 
nuded  hearts. 

The  world  as  it  is  is  not  believed  in. 
Men  ought  to  love  the  world.  But  they  distrust  the 
world.  They  do  not  know  when  the  world  may  not 
play  them  scamp.  The  world  may  be  hiding  round  some 
corner  prepared  to  knife  them.  The  world  may  talk 
them  fair  and  do  them  foul.  The  world  does  not  per 
suade.  The  world  drives.  The  world  is  not  your 
boon  companion.  The  world  is  your  master.  If  the 
world  does  nothing  to  get  you  on  good  terms  with  it. 
If  the  world  spoils  its  democracy  with  prefixes  and 
suffixes.  If  the  world  plays  to  favorites.  If  the  world 
gives  one  man  too  much  chance  and  another  man  too 
little.  If  the  world  is  all  over  fences.  If  the  world 
mocks  you  with  the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  its  sup 
plies  and  demands.  If  the  world  trips  your  best  inten 
tions.  If  the  world  makes  it  impossible  for  you  to  be 
just  to  your  neighbor  or  just  to  yourself.  If  the  world 
stunts  you  root  and  branch.  If  the  world  honors  trick 
ery  above  talent.  If  the  world  concentrates  in  the  mill 
ionaire.  What  does  the  world  not  do  but  dissipate  it 
self  in  a  cloud  of  damning  contingencies  ?  The  world 
as  it  is  is  a  world  of  negation.  It  writes  its  noes  and 

25 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

ciphers  over  your  brow.  It  signs  away  its  titles  in  a 
maybe  or  a  perhaps.  It  surrenders  soul  and  salad  to 
the  market.  It  ties  up  its  own  feet  and  hands.  It 
seals  its  own  lips.  It  deafens  its  own  ears.  It  blinds 
its  own  eyes.  Then  it  weeps  over  the  ruin  of  life. 
The  world  is  destined  for  order  and  remains  chaos. 
The  plan  is  stayed.  The  proposition  is  not  put 
through.  The  world's  resolution  somewhere  gets  tan 
gled  and  postpones  itself.  The  world  means  to 
be  fair.  But  the  world  is  an  invalid  world.  The 
world  needs  a  breath  of  oxygen.  The  world  was  to 
have  undertaken  a  journey  of  justice.  But  the  world 
missed  its  train  and  put  off  its  journey.  When  will  the 
world  start? 

The  world  as  it  is  keeps  all  its  children  at 
bay.  The  world  has  fastened  an  anathema  upon  labor. 
The  world  has  done  big  things  to  the  ear  and  little  to  the 
hope.  The  world  cries  trespass  against  its  children. 
The  world  as  it  is  is  not  a  home.  It  is  an  incubator. 
It  is  an  inn.  It  is  anything.  But  it  is  not  a  home. 
The  children  are  at  once  made  to  feel  that  they  are 
not  born  into  a  home.  The  children  are  born  alien. 
The  world  as  it  is  is  not  the  open  palm.  It  is  the 
clenched  fist.  The  world  as  it  is  is  not  a  world.  It  is 
a  battlefield.  It  is  a  black  threat.  It  is  potential  star 
vation.  The  world  as  it  is  does  not  celebrate  man.  It 
celebrates  property.  The  world  as  it  is  honors  prop 
erty  and  discredits  man.  The  world  as  it  is  gives  its 
degrees  to  financial  prestidigitation.  The  world  as  it 

26 


OF  MANY  VOICES  ONE  VOICE 

is  is  made  uncomfortable  for  simplicity.  It  does  not 
stake  its  fortune  on  original  results.  It  risks  all  for 
the  big  shows.  This  world  of  the  mines  and  the  fac 
tories.  This  world  of  the  storegirl  and  the  clerk.  This 
world  of  the  trainhand  and  the  roaddigger.  This  world 
of  purity  and  prostitution.  This  world  impaling  so 
cial  justice.  This  world  as  it  is  scarred  all  over  with 
contrast,  contradiction,  cruelty  and  concubinage.  This 
world  as  it  is  sworn  to  the  service  of  the  man  on  top. 
As  if  there  could  be  any  top  or  bottom  in  a  democracy. 
As  if  there  could  be  any  top  or  bottom  in  a  world  of 
decent  diameters.  Look  at  it.  This  magnificent  mal 
evolent  world.  This  beautiful  brutal  world.  This 
world  as  it  is.  Our  world.  This  world  every  inch  of 
it  the  rock  and  dirt  and  moisture  of  our  own  hands. 
This  world  as  it  is. 

OF  MANY  We  are  learning  a  lesson.  The  lesson 
VOICES  of  inviolable  unity.  The  masters  have 

ONE  VOICE  traded  on  our  quarrels.  The  one 
solid  asset  of  mastership  is  the  isolation  of  the  slave. 
We  refuse  longer  to  remain  isolated.  We  have  learned 
to  stick  together.  You  can  defeat  any  man  who  comes 
to  you  alone.  But  when  the  single  man  comes  to  you 
one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  strong  you  have  to  lis 
ten  to  his  appeal.  You  have  so  often  said  no  that  no 
has  become  your  habit.  But  labor  is  learning  not  to 
accept  your  no  as  no.  It  is  beginning  to  see  that  your 
no  may  mean  no  to  you  but  does  not  mean  no  to  labor. 

27 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

You  have  been  spoiled  by  the  effectiveness  of  your 
ancient  weapon.  Your  weapon  was  never  good.  It 
only  seemed  good  because  the  opposing  weapon  was  so 
bad.  Now  that  labor  has  a  weapon  with  which  to  meet 
you  your  blade  has  lost  its  edge.  The  laborer  himself 
has  rather  accepted  your  estimate  of  labor.  And  labor 
has  admired  your  superior  clothing  and  your  superior 
speech  and  your  overdressed  women  and  the  sports  of 
your  leisure.  And  so  you  have  felt  yourselves  con 
firmed.  A  change  has  come.  Labor  is  beginning  to 
realize  its  majority.  It  sees  that  all  the  fine  things  you 
possess  and  for  which  it  has  admired  you  are  but  the 
creation  and  property  of  labor  alienated  to  a  private 
from  a  common  fund.  And  that  consciousness  has 
lifted  labor  out  of  the  dirt.  It  has  inspired  labor  with 
a  conviction  of  its  right  of  way.  Labor  no  longer  says : 
By  your  leave.  Labor  now  says:  By  my  will.  Labor 
no  longer  fears  your  anger.  Labor  is  no  longer  a  sin 
gle  man  exposed  to  a  tempest.  Labor  is  an  army  con 
centrated  in  a  single  command.  Its  inveterate  energy 
must  finally  prove  resistless.  Labor  is  the  active  source 
of  wealth.  That  makes  labor  invincible.  Labor  handles 
all  the  earlier  laws.  Labor  arrives  first.  You  come 
after.  Without  labor  all  would  be  lost.  Without  you 
all  would  be  better  off.  The  values  are  being  inexor 
ably  shifted.  You  will  soon  be  under  the  wheel.  Once 
when  labor  came  to  you  you  buttoned  your  coat  and 
replied:  See  my  attorney.  Now  labor  has  its  own  at 
torney.  Labor  says:  Treat  with  my  attorney.  You 

28 


OF  MANY  VOICES  ONE  VOICE 

gag.  But  you  treat.  Labor  has  had  a  long  row  to  hoe. 
It  has  hoed  well.  It  has  kept  the  faith.  But  labor's 
harvests  bring  along  also  their  parasitic  weeds.  These 
weeds  come  by  the  same  law  as  the  wheat.  But  the 
weeds  have  threatened  the  wheat.  That  is  one  reason 
why  labor  is  resolved  to  remove  the  weeds.  In  the'long 
night,  when  interest  and  profit  and  rent  deserted,  labor 
kept  the  torch  aflame.  And  when  the  day  returned, 
interest  and  profit  and  rent  returned  with  it  vulgar  in 
self-acclaim.  Labor  is  learning  to  hold  its  own.  Not 
a  portion  of  its  own.  Not  a  pittance  called  its  own  by 
the  powers  that  have  been  engaged  in  exploiting  it. 
Its  absolute  own.  All  its  own.  One  hundred  per 
cent. 

The  forces  on  top  are  beginning  to  look  worried. 
They  are  feeling  that  in  the  submerged  world  of  labor 
something  is  going  on.  Something  that  does  not  mean 
well  for  them.  They  do  not  know  what  that  something 
is.  They  know  that  whatever  it  is  it  is  to  be  fought  to 
a  finish.  They  know  there  is  some  calamity  threatened. 
And  they  are  preparing  to  meet  the  dreaded  event. 
Labor,  too,  knows  there  is  something  in  the  wind. 
And  labor  itself  does  not  always  know  what  that  some 
thing  is.  But  labor  by  an  instinct  of  self-preservation 
is  learning  the  lesson  so  far  overdue.  That  lesson  may 
seem  inchoate  and  imperfect.  But  the  elements  all  ex 
ist  and  they  are  taking  counsel  of  each  other.  When 
the  time  is  ripe  they  will  coalesce  with  such  vigor  and 
upon  such  terms  as  will  permit  no  doubt  to  be  enter- 

29 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

tained  of  their  purpose.  The  masters  may  as  well  be 
warned  in  time.  Their  one  last  weapon  is  effete.  La 
bor  has  closed  up  the  gap.  Do  you  think  that  labor  is 
striking  for  favors  ?  Labor  is  demanding  justice.  La 
bor  will  take  nothing  as  a  gift.  Keep  your  gifts.  We 
ask  you  to  render  an  account.  After  all  you  have  been 
only  a  steward.  We  do  not  acknowledge  you  beyond 
your  stewardship.  And  we  call  in  your  short  loan. 
You  have  got  to  meet  us  in  the  open.  Not  back  of 
closed  doors.  Not  in  a  distant  town.  Not  helplessly 
one  by  one.  You  have  got  to  meet  us  where  we  choose 
and  when  as  well  as  where  and  when  you  choose.  We 
come  to  you  no  longer  begging  pardon,  hat  in  hand. 
We  come  with  a  demand,  our  hats  on  our  heads.  The 
office  boy  can  no  longer  dismiss  us.  We  break  a  way 
in  to  the  throne.  You  have  got  to  hear  and  you  have 
got  to  be  polite.  We  are  teaching  you  manners  as  well 
as  matters.  We  come  to  you  hundred  thousands 
strong.  Our  one  man  is  the  sum  total.  The  little  dago 
who  cannot  speak  a  word  of  English  and  who  is  known 
by  a  number  rather  than  a  name  is  the  big  American 
who  has  the  power  to  demand  an  audience  of  kings. 
He  sends  his  idea  up  to  headquarters.  And  there  you 
have  to  meet  it.  We  have  no  apologies  to  offer  for 
disturbing  your  peace.  You  have  had  that  sort  of 
peace  long  enough.  It  is  a  peace  that  is  no  peace. 
Peace  without  honor  is  the  worst  war.  You  have  had 
the  sort  of  peace  which  has  made  all  the  decisions  one 
way  and  that  one  way  yours.  Now  we  take  you  aside 

30 


GOD  UP  THERE  SOMEWHERE  CRIES 

and  say:  That  will  not  do.  We  are  no  respecters  of 
properties.  The  properties  must  take  care  of  them 
selves.  The  meanest  man  takes  precedence  of  the 
most  formidable  and  magnificent  edifice.  When  the 
most  ignorant  and  the  most  obscure  workman  has  a 
grievance  you  must  hear  it.  You  may  shudder.  But 
his  voice  is  as  potent  as  any  voice. 

We  have  come  to 

you  hundred  thousands  strong.  We  clamor  at  your 
doors.  We  fill  the  highways.  We  crowd  you  up  to 
the  very  porches  of  your  heart.  The  single  man's 
voice  is  withdrawn.  We  send  you  this  voice  instead. 
This  is  the  voice  of  thousands  welded  for  one  voice. 
This  is  the  voice  of  a  new  democracy.  We  are  practic 
ing  an  art  which  will  compel  your  respect.  You  will 
take  your  broom  and  sweep  back  at  the  sea.  But  you 
will  not  sweep  back  at  us.  When  we  come  you  will 
put  your  antiquated  broom  away.  We  who  make  of 
many  voices  one  voice. 

GOD  UP  THERE  Do  not  apologize  for  your 

SOMEWHERE  CRIES  client.  Do  not  shuffle  and 
shrink  when  labor  sins.  Labor  has  sinned  greatly.  La 
bor  will  sin  some  more.  Labor  hates  the  half  advo 
cate.  It  looks  to  you  in  the  thick  and  thin  of  battle. 
You  are  to  be  in  the  right  place  at  the  right  time.  You 
are  not  to  come  arguing  that  you  should  not  come. 
You  are  not  to  go  to  the  front  and  dispute  the  virtue 
of  war  with  the  acting  general.  The  fight  is  on  and 

31 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

you  know  your  post.  You  are  not  to  throw  down  your 
arms  and  tell  your  enemy  that  you  love  him.  You  do 
love  him.  Of  course.  But  you  are  fighting  this  fight 
as  much  for  his  sake  as  your  own.  So  you  will  love 
him.  And  you  will  fight.  Labor  is  not  making  a  de 
mand  based  on  superiorities  or  virtues.  It  is  making 
a  demand  based  on  addition,  subtraction  and  division. 
It  is  building  a  demand  on  the  multiplication  table.  It 
is  not  asking  for  more  money  because  it  has  six  wives 
or  one  wife.  It  is  not  asking  for  more  money  because 
it  has  played  the  good  Samaritan.  It  is  not  proving 
that  it  deserves  more  money  because  it  observes  the 
ten  commandments  or  obeys  the  laws  of  the  state.  It 
is  willing  to  rest  its  case  upon  the  multiplication  table. 
To  you  who  object  to  sentiment  we  quote  the  multipli 
cation  table. 

We  will  meet  you,  the  other  you,  with  any 
weapon  of  your  choice.  We  will  meet  you  way  up 
where  the  clouds  clash.  We  will  meet  you  way  down 
where  the  roots  fasten  themselves  in  the  soil.  We  will 
meet  you  on  the  surface  of  the  earth.  We  will  meet 
you  in  your  parlor,  in  your  office  or  on  the  street.  We 
will  meet  you  with  an  arithmetic  or  a  scripture.  We 
will  turn  arithmetic  into  scripture  and  scripture  into 
arithmetic.  Your  choice  is  your  own.  We  will  follow 
where  you  lead.  We  will  meet  you  on  your  field  or 
on  our  own  or  on  neutral  ground.  We  will  meet  by 
your  watch.  We  will  meet  you  with  the  glove  or  with 
plain  knuckles.  Any  way  you  choose.  Anyway.  Any- 

32 


GOD  UP  THERE  SOMEWHERE  CRIES 

way.  And  we  will  lick  you.  We  are  going  to  make 
mistakes.  We  are  going  to  be  hot.  We  are  going  to 
do  you  some  injustice.  We  are  going  to  be  stern.  We 
are  going  to  use  words  that  overshoot  and  words  that 
undershoot  the  mark.  We  are  going  to  fight  you  with 
our  fears  and  with  our  challenges.  We  are  going  to 
drive  you  hard  and  give  no  quarter.  For  we  are  to 
fight.  We  are  not  to  take  hold  and  let  go.  We  are 
going  to  take  hold  and  never  let  go.  Fight.  That  is 
our  word.  It  is  a  brute  word.  But  we  are  forced  to 
use  it.  No  other  word  so  well  says  fight  as  that  word 
fight  itself.  And  fight  it  is.  We  do  not  fight  because 
we  hate  but  because  we  love.  We  do  not  fight  to  take 
away  anything  from  anybody.  We  fight  to  give  away 
everything  to  everybody.  Fight.  It  is  a  miracled 
word.  Its  root  is  love.  Its  fruit  is  love.  Fight.  Not 
fist.  Not  gun.  Not  knife.  None  of  these  are  fight. 
Only  love  is  fight.  These  destroy.  Love  saves. 
Fight.  No  fool  apologies.  No  mushpotteries.  No 
retreats.  No  attempts  to  mend  a  mistake  by  surrender. 
No  soft  phrases  to  turn  away  wrath.  Your  biggest  fist. 
Your  most  austere  front.  Beware  of  us.  When  we 
strike  we  strike  to  kill.  Not  with  a  weapon  of  blood. 
Not  to  kill  your  body.  Do  you  think  we  are  out  for 
your  body?  No.  No.  We  are  out  for  the  idea. 
We  will  never  rest  with  that  idea  at  large.  We  will 
game  it.  You  have  tried  to  make  us  think  we  were 
jealous  of  your  material  possessions.  That  is  a  mistake. 
We  are  jealous  of  that  idea.  You  will  not  give  up  your 

33 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

idea  without  a  struggle.  We  do  not  expect  an  easy 
fight.  But  you  will  give  it  up.  For  the  forces  on  our 
side  go  back  to  the  elemental  laws  and  forward  to  the 
ideal  and  cannot  be  frustrated.  We  will  get  whipped. 
But  we  will  fight.  And  we  will  get  whipped  again. 
But  less  whipped.  And  we  will  fight.  And  we  will 
get  whipped  again.  And  all  will  seem  lost.  And  the 
sun  will  go  down  on  our  dismay.  But  we  will  fight. 
And  you  will  hurt  us.  And  we  will  cry  out  for  pain. 
And  we  will  be  silent  for  philosophy.  But  fight  on. 
And  that  is  why  finally  you  will  go  to  the  ground.  For 
we  can  lose  everything  and  still  fight.  We  see  nothing 
but  fight.  We  hear  nothing  but  fight.  We  dream 
nothing  but  fight.  Never  was  such  war.  War  not  to 
the  knife.  War  to  justice.  War  to  the  ideal.  War 
not  to  shed  blood.  War  to  stop  the  blood  that  starva 
tion  sheds.  War  to  stop  the  wasting  blood  of  the  chil 
dren.  War  upon  luxury.  War  for  life.  War  for 
clothes,  food,  leisure.  War  without  truces.  War  with 
out  paroles  and  spies.  War  direct  and  cruel.  War 
without  malice.  War  without  concession.  War  of 
strong  men.  War  that  sends  its  weaklings  and  word- 
mongers  to  the  rear.  War  that  does  not  fight  a  staunch 
battle  today  and  beg  your  pardon  for  it  tomorrow. 
War  that  is  not  for  babes  and  sucklings.  War.  War. 
War. 

When  you  meet  us  you  meet  the  greatest  army 
that  ever  arrayed  itself  against  a  crime.  It  is  an  army 
that  weeps  when  it  fights.  Though  it  fights.  An  army 

34 


GOD  UP  THERE  SOMEWHERE  CRIES 

that  would  rather  pay  you  a  compliment  than  hurt  your 
feelings.  An  army  to  which  the  business  of  fighting  is 
hateful.  But  an  army  which  for  this  very  reason  rights 
harder  than  ever.  An  army  not  bargained  for  at  so 
much  per  head.  An  army  which  love  has  sent  to  the 
field  and  which  only  a  superior  love  can  defeat.  It  will 
be  scared.  But  it  will  intrepidly  fight.  It  may  be  on 
the  point  of  flying.  But  it  will  not  fly.  This  army  so 
full  of  love.  This  fight  so  full  of  love.  Brutal  with 
love.  The  army  of  the  people.  The  army  of  the  fight 
ing  democracy.  There  are  feeble  advocates  among  us. 
But  do  not  let  them  deceive  you.  We  are  not  as  weak 
as  our  weakest  corporal.  We  are  as  strong  as  our 
strongest  corporal.  Keep  out  all  your  guards.  You 
will  need  them  all.  For  we  never  sleep.  We  have 
some  tenderfeet  of  our  own.  But  they  count  for  noth 
ing  against  our  veteran  hosts.  We  are  liable  to  be 
strongest  when  you  think  your  opportunity  has  come. 
We  have  our  grammarians.  We  do  not  find  much  use 
for  them.  The  people  remain.  We  have  the  plain 
people.  The  people  who  are  unspoiled  by  the  gram 
marians.  The  people  who  fight.  The  nasty,  dirty, 
narrow  people.  The  ordinary,  everyday  people.  The 
crowding  many  who  are  dragged  over  rough  roads  by 
the  scattering  few.  The  people,  conservative,  slow, 
lethargic,  patient,  only  dreaming  of  revolution  when 
every  other  dream  is  gone.  The  people  who  will  not 
fight  until  they  must  but  who  when  they  must  fight, 
fight,  as  Captain  Bluntschli  says,  like  the  devil.  These 

35 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

are  left.  And  these  will  always  return.  No  matter 
what  the  terror  of  the  rout.  These  will  report  next 
day  as  usual.  For  the  people  and  this  fight  are  of  one 
stuff.  You  can  only  get  rid  of  the  fight  by  getting  rid 
of  the  people. 

And  so  fight  is  said.  Fight.  And  fight 
we  mean.  Fight  of  many  retreats.  Fight  of  more  de 
feats  than  victories  for  us.  But  fight.  We  expect  no 
victory  until  the  final  victory.  We  only  fight.  We 
fight  not  knowing  whether  we  have  won  or  are  whipped. 
We  fight  the  same  fight.  We  hear  the  voice  ahead. 
We  see  the  light.  We  fight  on.  The  voice  is  silent. 
The  light  is  gone  out.  We  fight  on.  That  is  all  we 
have  to  do.  Fight.  We  are  cowards.  We  fight  on. 
We  are  heroes.  We  fight  on.  That  is  all  we  have  to 
do.  Fight.  God  up  there  somewhere  cries:  Fight! 
Fight  down  here  somewhere  cries :  God ! 

SAID  THE  MAS-  Said  'the  master  of  men:  "Keep 
TER  OF  MEN  off  the  earth.  Keep  out  of  the 
air.  Do  not  swim  in  the  water.  Do  you  suppose  the 
harvests  of  the  field  are  yours?  Do  you  suppose 
that  the  air  is  intended  for  you  to  breathe?  Do 
you  suppose  that  the  water  is  made  to  drink?  You 
have  a  licentious  imagination.  Why  do  you  suppose  I 
have  fenced  in  the  earth?  Why  do  you  suppose  I 
charge  you  a  solid  rate  for  the  opportunity  to  live  ?  Do 
you  believe  you  have  some  rights  to  life  which  the  air, 
the  water,  the  field,  in  spite  of  me,  are  bound  to  re- 

36 


SAID  THE  MASTER  OF  MEN 

spect?  You  do  not  count  up  your  twos  and  threes.  I 
am  a  tollgate  and  you  are  my  toll.  I  am  the  gatekeeper 
of  heaven  and  you  must  pay  me  to  get  in.  I  am  the 
portal  to  all  the  vista  of  time.  Through  me  you  eat, 
drink  and  make  merry.  If  you  deny  me  you  starve, 
you  thirst,  you  mourn.  But  for  me  life  would  not  live. 
But  for  me  the  earth  would  be  a  desert.  Useless,  am 
I  ?  Where  did  you  go  to  school  ?  Sixty  generations 
of  children  have  been  taught  my  gospel.  As  many 
generations  of  grown  up  men  and  women  have  suffered 
and  starved  to  prove  me  true.  I  am  the  taxrate  and 
the  tax.  Ideas  may  be  true.  Dreams  may  be  true. 
You  may  have  a  Hebrew  or  another  Bible  that  is  true. 
But  nothing  is  so  true  as  my  omnipresent  assessment. 
I  drain  the  clouds  dry.  I  take  from  the  earth  till  its 
last  blossom  wilts.  I  take  from  the  heart  of  man  till 
its  last  hope  is  lost.  What  could  so  much  prove  me 
true  as  the  length  of  my  arm  ?  That  arm  will  reach  its 
palm  into  any  pocket,  into  any  estate,  into  any  heart. 
And  when  it  is  withdrawn  nothing  is  left.  I  live  by 
several  names.  But  these  names  rightly  spelled  spell 
one  name.  By  some  I  am  called  rent.  By  some  I  am 
called  interest.  By  some  I  am  called  profit.  But  I 
neither  court  nor  reject  any  name.  As  long  as  I 
can  accomplish  my  object  I  am  willing  to  accept  any 
name  and  equally  willing  to  go  without  a  name.  When 
it  suits  my  convenience  I  call  myself  rent.  When  it 
suits  my  convenience  I  call  myself  interest.  I  never 
say  theft.  I  say  rent  and  interest.  Yes,  and  profit,  too. 

37 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

The  people  I  fool  by  profit  are  just  as  sensitive  as  the 
people  I  fool  by  rent  and  interest.  They  do  not  mind 
being  fooled.  They  fool  themselves  when  they  get  a 
chance.  But  they  prefer  to  be  fooled  in  the  right  way. 
They  like  to  be  fooled  gracefully  and  according  to  the 
code.  So  I  have  to  be  perpetually  on  my  guard.  For 
as  long  as  I  rob  right  I  am  called  shrewd  and  am  envied 
by  my  victims,  who  are  my  fellow  robbers.  But  if  I 
mix  my  etymology  a  mob  of  professors  is  instantly  at 
my  heels  threatening  my  increments.  To  show  you 
how  popular  I  am  with  the  people  I  need  only  remind 
you  of  history.  The  people  do  not  make  the  laws. 
But  they  make  the  lawmakers.  And  they  always  make 
the  sort  of  lawmakers  who  protect  me  in  the  laws.  The 
people  do  not  own  the  factories  and  the  stores.  But 
they  create  the  men  who  hold  the  titles  to  the  factor 
ies  and  the  stores.  And  they  always  create  the  sort 
of  men  who  first  of  all  take  care  that  my  berth  shall  be 
cheerily  fattened.  And  so  on.  Now,  if  the  people  did 
not  mean  me  to  be  exactly  what  I  am  the  people  would 
refuse  to  make  it  possible  for  me  to  live  just  as  I  do. 
The  people  are  very  good.  They  provide  for  me  be 
fore  they  provide  for  themselves.  They  take  care  that 
I  have  enough  to  eat  even  while  they  starve.  And 
enough  to  wear  and  to  cover  my  bed  even  when  they 
are  cold.  I  get  my  dues  whatever  happens.  You 
look.  You  see  the  people  in  trouble.  They  are  wor 
rying  over  something.  You  may  perhaps  imagine  that 
they  have  children  at  home  without  enough  food  to  go 

38 


SAID  THE  MASTER  OF  MEN 

round.  Or  that  some  other  domestic  tragedy  has  de 
veloped.  You  are  wrong.  Their  grief  is  all  about  me. 
They  are  afraid  they  may  not  be  able  to  do  justice  to  me. 
They  have  no  money  and  no  work.  They  ask  them 
selves  :  What  will  interest,  rent,  profit  do  to  get  along 
if  I  have  no  money  and  no  work?  They  see  me  going 
to  the  poorhouse.  So  they  wander  wearily  about  the 
streets  grieving  for  me.  And  sometimes  they  get  de 
spondent  and  jump  into  the  river  or  blow  their  brains 
out.  Just  because  they  would  not  like  any  hurt  to 
come  to  me.  For  if  anything  was  to  happen  to  disable 
me  the  country  would  go  to  smash.  The  farmers  all 
farm  their  farms  for  me.  Every  spindle  in  every  fac 
tory  spindles  for  me.  Every  machine  at  Lynn  shoes  for 
me.  The  stores  are  conducted  for  me.  The  railroads 
run  in  furtherance  of  my  estate.  The  people  are  my 
sworn  allies.  They  are  my  stubborn  friends.  When 
my  integrity  is  threatened  by  some  minority  of  the  peo 
ple  themselves  I  do  not  need  to  lift  a  hand  in  my  own 
defense.  The  people  do  it  all.  They  defend  me. 
They  are  only  too  glad  to  demonstrate  their  loyalty. 
When  rebellion  rebels  I  simply  hold  my  peace  and  my 
usufruct  and  smile.  Thousands  of  people  will  die  in 
order  that  I  may  live.  The  clay  of  this  world  may  red 
den  with  carnage.  But  none  of  my  blood  is  drawn. 
When  the  battle  is  over  I  reappear  and  receive  the 
homage  that  attaches  to  my  sacred  prerogative.  I  who 
am  interest.  I  who  am  rent.  I  who  am  profit.  But 
for  me  the  political  state,  the  lord  of  the  land,  the  lord 

39 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

of  the  money,  the  lord  of  the  tool,  could  not  live  over  a 
single  night.  1  sit  on  every  hearthstone  and  wait.  I 
am  in  at  every  birth.  I  am  in  at  every  death.  My 
decalogue  fixes  the  social  seasons.  No  one  can  dodge 
or  postpone  me.  No  one  can  order  life  with  me  left 
out.  No  one.  I  am  never  premature  and  I  never  quit. 
In  all  the  exigencies  of  your  career,  from  the  cradled 
start  to  the  coffined  finish,  I  fix  the  terms  of  settlement. 
I  am  life  to  you  when  you  surrender  and  death  to  you 
when  you  revolt.  I  who  am  rent.  I  who  am  interest. 
I  who  am  profit."  That  is  what  the  master  of  men 
said. 

WHEN  THE  It  is  God  no  longer.  It  is  Injunc- 
ENJOINER  tion. 

IS  ENJOINED  The  air  is  full  of  injunction.     It 

is  injunction  simple,  injunction  complex.  It  is  injunc 
tion  monosyllabic  and  injunction  polysyllabic.  If  you 
want  to  do  a  certain  thing  you  are  enjoined.  If  you  do 
not  want  to  do  it  you  are  enjoined.  The  hat  you  put 
on  your  head  is  enjoined.  The  love  you  put  into  your 
heart  is  enjoined.  The  thought  you  put  into  your  head 
is  enjoined.  Democracy  has  given  way  to  injunction. 
Even  religion  retires  before  injunction.  So  thick  is  the 
cloud  of  the  interlopers.  So  thick  is  the  crowd.  So 
thick. 

The  courts  are  finding  some  use  for  themselves. 
We  had  long  been  wondering  why  we  should  not  abol 
ish  the  courts.  But  if  we  had  no  courts  who  would 

40 


WHEN  THE  ENJOINER  IS  ENJOINED 

enjoin?  We  could  get  along  without  punishing  men 
for  murder  and  robbery.  But  we  could  not  get  along 
without  enjoining  men  from  the  pursuit  of  liberty.  The 
courts  save  us  from  ourselves.  Left  to  ourselves  we 
might  get  justice  too  fast.  So  we  submit  our  souls  to 
the  courts.  The  courts  say :  Go  slow,  very  slow.  The 
courts  say :  Don't  go  at  all.  For  liberty  does  not  seem 
impossibly  far  ahead.  And  we  seem  dangerously  near 
its  protectorate.  Liberty  would  be  very  perilous  for 
somebody.  The  somebody  with  something  that  does 
not  belong  to  him.  So  we  must  not  be  allowed  to  get 
within  hailing  distance  of  liberty.  So  we  cry  to  the 
courts :  Save  us  from  ourselves.  And  the  courts  save 
us.  The  courts  enjoin. 

I  saw  a  man  who  loved  him 
self.  1  told  him  he  should  not  love  himself.  And  so 
he  stopped  himself  in  time.  I  saw  a  man  who  loved 
his  wife.  Yes,  who  loved  his  wife  and  children.  Yes, 
his  family  and  many  families.  Yes,  many  families  and 
all  families.  This  man  was  surely  a  madman.  Love 
was  capable  of  making  any  man  mad.  The  truer  his 
love  the  madder  the  man.  And  madness  is  a  menace 
to  dollars.  Especially  dollars  that  are  stolen.  This  is 
not  a  world  for  love.  It  is  a  world  for  dollars.  So  the 
court  restrains.  My  madman  is  enjoined.  He  is  ad 
monished  against  love.  Love  will  do  for  gods,  an 
gels,  children  and  the  insane.  Nothing  but  dollars  will 
do  for  the  man.  Dollars  indeed  prove  the  man.  So 
the  court's  edict  is  published.  Love  slinks  shame- 

41 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

facedly  back  to  the  nursery.  The  court  is  happy.  It 
has  saved  the  race  again. 

Yet  the  race  is  never  saved 

but  it  gets  lost  again.  No  sooner  have  the  saviors 
stopped  their  business  of  salvation  than  the  disinte 
grating  devils  have  resumed  their  work.  After  the 
courts  have  patched  up  a  legal  peace  a  lawless  nether 
bulge  rebursts  the  faulty  dam.  The  courts  are  never 
able  to  complete  their  case.  They  tinker  away  at  it. 
They  get  it  about  where  it  seems  to  them  to  belong. 
Then  the  roof  falls  in  or  the  foundations  cave.  Then 
a  cyclone  breaks  across  the  country.  Then  some  pois 
oned  meat  is  delivered  at  the  door.  Something,  any 
thing,  appears  to  disturb  the  court's  best  laid  plans. 
But  the  court  keeps  on  enjoining.  You  find  an  injunc 
tion  under  your  pillow.  You  find  an  injunction  by 
your  plate  at  breakfast.  The  great  newspapers  are 
headlined  with  injunctions.  Injunctions  eclipse  the 
sun.  We  do  not  pray.  We  enjoin. 

He  enjoins  best 

who  enjoins  last.  What  can  you  do  if  .injunction  will 
not  enjoin?  If  the  injuncted  will  not  be  enjoined? 
What  can  you  do  if  injunction  is  laughed  in  the  face? 
The  people  are  getting  quarrelsome.  They  are  laugh 
ing  at  your  Niagara.  They  threaten  to  hurl  your 
waters  back  over  the  crest  of  the  cliff  again.  The  en- 
joiner  may  enjoin.  But  the  enjoined  may  not  stay  en 
joined.  Let  the  courts  have  a  little  fun.  Let  them  en 
joy  their  sundown  prerogatives.  Soon  the  day  will  be 

42 


WHEN  THE  ENJOINER  IS  ENJOINED 

gone.  Why  should  capital  not  have  a  few  delights  with 
which  to  conclude  the  epic  of  its  piratical  husbandry? 
Injunction  is  its  last  game.  It  is  the  last  throw  of 
a  dying  marplot.  It  is  the  final  flicker  of  an  expiring 
flame.  Why  grudge  capital  the  sweet  delay  of  the  in 
junction  ?  Stand  aside.  Give  it  air  to  breathe.  Its 
doom  is  appointed.  Injunction  is  the  breath  of  its 
departing  life.  Be  generous.  Let  it  die  in  its  own  way. 
Let  it  fix  the  terms  of  its  farewell. 

For  now  the  enjoiner 

is  to  be  enjoined.  The  people  have  risen.  The  courts 
are  adjourned  to  the  court.  The  court  is  the  people. 
The  people  enjoin.  Ten  thousand  injunctions  are  dis 
posed  of  by  one  injunction.  You  have  gone  on  suppos 
ing  there  was  nothing  above  the  courts.  The  courts  were 
of  final  resort.  But  the  people  loomed  above  the  courts. 
We  alone  are  final,  said  the  people.  The  injunction 
seems  logical  as  long  as  the  people  sleep.  But  when  the 
people  awake  the  injunction  sinks  to  chaos.  Nothing  is 
logical  but  the  people.  The  courts  have  assumed  that 
they  could  get  along  without  the  people.  The  people 
have  proved  that  the  people  can  get  along  without  the 
courts.  Injunction  enjoined  ten  or  a  thousand  times 
more  than  enough.  The  people  were  satisfied  to  stand 
a  little  trifling  of  that  sort.  The  people  are  slow.  They 
try  all  expedients  before  they  try  the  last  expedient. 
But  the  injunction  is  enjoined.  What  are  the  best  of 
your  courts  ?  The  worst  of  the  people  are  potentially 
better  than  the  best  of  your  courts.  The  courts  betray 

43 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

the  people.  They  place  themselves  as  a  breakwall  be 
tween  the  people  and  justice.  The  people  will  discredit 
and  destroy  the  courts.  The  courts  are  in  the  road. 
They  must  go.  The  political  court,  like  the  political 
state,  must  die.  It  is  proving  itself  unable  to  fulfill  the 
mandate.  The  courts  injunct  democracy.  But  the 
people  injunct  the  courts.  The  enjoiner  is  enjoined. 
The  people  who  enjoin  last  are  the  people  who  enjoin 
best. 

It  is  Injunction  no  longer.     It  is  the  People. 

THE  MEN  WHO  A  father  and  his  little  child 
CR  Y  AND  KEEP  ON  were  traveling  a  dark  road  to 
gether.  The  father  asked  the  child:  "If  something 
happened  to  me  now — if  I  was  killed  or  disappeared — 
what  would  you  do  ? "  The  child  replied :  "  I  would 
cry  but  I  would  keep  right  on."  The  great  men  and 
women  of  the  world  cry  but  they  keep  right  on. 

Some 

people  are  failures  even  in  their  successes.  Some  peo 
ple  are  successes  even  in  their  failures.  The  great  souls 
never  admit  failure.  The  great  souls  never  admit  suc 
cess.  The  great  souls  are  not  after  failure  or  after  suc 
cess.  We  look  at  the  big  men  and  we  find  they  are  all 
of  one  root.  They  all  seem  to  come  from  the  same 
stock.  The  same  raw  material.  They  differ  in  degrees 
and  particulars  but  they  do  not  differ  in  kind.  They 
have  the  same  sincerity.  They  have  the  same  simplic 
ity.  They  are  after  the  same  results.  You  always  know 

44 


THE  MEN  WHO  CRY  AND  KEEP  ON 

where  the  great  man  is  likely  to  be  if  a  certain  thing 
happens.  The  great  man  does  not  default.  He  does 
not  turn  up  somewhere  else.  He  is  bound  to  appear 
on  a  given  spot.  The  great  men  are  the  strong  men. 
The  strongest  men  are  the  gentlest  men.  And  because 
the  man  is  gentle  he  will  cry.  And  because  he  is  strong 
he  will  keep  right  on.  And  he  will  cry  as  only  gentle 
men  can  cry.  And  he  will  keep  on  as  only  strong  men 
can  keep  on. 

Do  you  suppose  men  like  to  be  mis 
understood?  Yet  they  would  rather  be  misunderstood 
than  be  traitorous.  They  give  up  your  present  for 
your  future  good  will.  Or  they  give  up  your  good  will 
altogether  in  the  interest  of  your  good  weal.  You  may 
not  see  that  they  cry.  But  they  cry  nevertheless.  In  the 
closet.  Away  from  the  public  sneer.  But  you  will  see 
that  they  keep  right  on.  Think  how  Lincoln  must 
have  cried  to  get  those  rings  round  his  eyes  and  those 
deep  lines  down  his  face.  But  Lincoln  kept  right  on. 
They  said  that  John  Brown  smiled  when  he  was  exe 
cuted.  When  he  smiled  the  scaffold  disappeared  and 
was  never  seen  again.  But  we  also  know  that  the  gran 
ite  man  in  his  solitude  cried  for  America.  Yet  he  kept 
right  on.  No  one  suspected  that  he  might  have  turned 
back  if  there  had  been  some  chance  of  escape.  He  did 
not  look  for  escape.  It  was  his  business  to  keep  right 
on.  And  he  kept  right  on. 

In  the  end  we  always  admire 

the  strong  man.     He  may  temporally  fret  and  worry  us, 

45 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

He  may  seem  dangerous  to  our  increases  and  incre 
ments.  He  may  seem  possessed  of  a  malign  fanaticism. 
But  he  will  sternly  endure  our  distrust.  He  will  sur 
vive  our  suspicion.  We  may  always  think  the  man's 
idea  wrong.  But  we  will  admit  that  the  man  is  right. 
For  the  man  who  keeps  right  on  has  put  himself  into 
partnership  with  moral  gravitation.  And  this  is  an  ap 
peal  to  which  we  must  all  finally  respond.  The  child 
said  it  would  cry  but  keep  right  on.  The  child  divined 
more  than  it  knew. 

You  are  ridiculed.  You  turn  back. 
You  are  fought.  You  turn  back.  You  stop  your 
clock.  You  turn  back  its  hands.  You  apologize  to 
yesterday  for  today.  You  are  afraid  of  the  issue.  Your 
comrade  dies  at  your  side.  The  bullets  fly.  Back  you 
go.  Why  should  you  press  on  against  such  odds? 
Back  you  go.  You  are  at  the  beginning  again.  Is  this 
home  ?  The  homestead  has  disappeared.  You  are  lost. 
You  are  full  of  rebellion  until  the  rebellion  occurs. 
Then  you  are  empty  of  rebellion.  You  are  crazy  to 
pay  your  bills.  The  bills  are  presented.  You  refuse 
to  pay.  You  have  got  your  ideas  locked  up  in  a  desk. 
You  have  printed  them  in  a  book.  You  have  painted 
them  in  a  picture.  But  you  have  not  got  them  into 
your  heart  and  your  feet.  Your  very  ligaments  must 
become  the  extract  and  potency  of  the  ideal.  When 
the  drum  sounds  for  retreat  how  dare  you  hear?  The 
battle  turns  against  you.  But  you  will  not  turn  against 
yourself.  Never.  The  child  would  cry  and  keep  on. 

46 


THE  MEN  WHO  CRY  AND  KEEP  ON 

What  has  become  of  the  child  in  you  that  you  would 
run  self-baffled  from  the  field? 

I  do  not  pray  for  ideas. 

I  pray  for  spirit.  Ideas  may  be  faithless.  Ideas  may 
be  disproved  by  ideas.  Ideas  may  be  bought  and  sold. 
But  spirit  is  never  disproved  by  anything.  You  will 
be  tempted  but  you  will  not  see  temptation.  You  will 
see  only  your  own  guarantees.  You  can  go  without 
meals.  You  can  go  without  laces  back  of  your  win 
dows  and  on  your  skirts.  You  can  go  without  the  opera. 
But  you  cannot  go  without  your  faith.  You  can  give 
up  everything  else  and  still  be  rich.  But  if  you  give 
up  faith  all  the  rest  cannot  save  you.  I  do  not  ask  you 
to  rise  above  your  build.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  do  mir 
acles.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  put  two  and  two  together 
and  make  them  five.  I  ask  you  how  you  can  know 
what  your  build  is  until  you  have  put  on  your  roof  ? 
How  can  you  know?  You  think  yourself  little.  But 
the  man  who  thinks  himself  little  can  think  himself  big. 
You  think  yourself  weak.  The  man  who  thinks  him 
self  weak  can  think  himself  strong. 

What  is  your  voice 

to  do  to  make  itself  heard  on  the  cryday  of  our  civili 
zation?  How  can  it  get  free  from  the  crowd  of  voices? 
Is  it  to  stir  about  a  little  and  then  shrink  into  a  stagnant 
calm  of  despair?  It  may  bring  you  sorrow.  It  may 
bring  you  persecution.  The  chief  thing  is  that  it  brings 
you.  Stick  to  yourself.  Cry  if  you  must.  But  keep 
on.  You  have  no  business  with  the  persecutors  and  the 

47 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

prosecutors.  You  must  have  but  one  eye.  That  is  for 
the  light  ahead.  Your  faith  is  far  too  big  for  contem 
porary  favor.  It  misses  reward.  It  finds  blessedness. 
Stand  irrevocably  by  yourself.  Do  not  let  the  dis 
turbances  of  the  road  dull  the  pith  of  your  intention. 
Whatever  you  are  be  that  thing  strong.  Not  strong 
in  resentment.  Strong  in  affirmation.  You  will  be 
misinterpreted.  They  will  call  you  harsh  and  cruel. 
The  dispossessor  will  call  you  a  robber.  Even  the  dis 
possessed  will  not  know  you  or  say  "How  d'ye  do?" 
though  you  do  his  work.  Your  children  will  think  you 
queer  and  your  father  and  mother  will  cast  you  out. 
You  will  go  to  a  thousand  crosses  martyred  and  serene. 
You  will  cry,  cry,  bitterly.  Wet  the  ground  with  your 
blood  and  tears.  But  you  will  keep  on.  You  will  be 
weak.  But  you  will  keep  on.  Or  strong.  But  keep 
on.  Or  evil.  But  keep  on.  Or  good.  But  keep  on. 
What  will  loss  or  failure  hurt?  You  will  keep  on. 
What  will  success  or  fortune  help  ?  You  will  keep  on. 
I  came  upon  you  unawares.  There  you  were  weeping 
to  yourself  for  your  sins.  But  when  you  saw  me  you 
smiled  and  kept  on.  What  can  run  short  if  your 
faith  runs  long?  What  can  tire  your  feet  if  your  soul 
does  not  tire  ?  What  can  make  you  trespass  if  your 
heart  refuses  to  invade  ?  What  can  turn  you  into  stone 
if  your  sympathy  melts  the  very  rocks  of  the  hills  ?  To 
yourself  you  are  full  of  grief.  To  the  world  you  are 
austere.  Back  there  alone  you  weep.  But  before  the 
world  your  eyes  are  dried.  Yet  if  the  world  could  look 

48 


THE  BLOOD  OF  THE  MARTYRS 

with  eyes  that  are  more  than  eyes  it  would  see  you  sor 
rowing  for  its  guilt.  You  who  sorrow  but  keep  on. 
You  who  must  be  cruel.  You  who  being  cruel  keep 
on. 

That  is  the  gospel  of  the  child.  You  feel  its  small 
soft  hand  in  your  harder  palm.  The  child  that  cries 
but  keeps  on.  The  child  in  you  that  cries  but  keeps 
on. 

THE  BLOOD  We  worship  the  destroyer.  We  de- 
OF  THE  spise  or  at  least  ignore  the  builder. 

MARTYRS  When  a  file  of  soldiers  comes  down  the 
street  marching  to  the  drum  and  fife  your  pulses  dilate, 
your  blood  thrills  and  you  are  creatured  into  a  mood  of 
exalted  feeling.  But  if  a  file  of  laborers  comes  along 
nine  chances  out  of  ten  you  will  say  something  sarcastic 
about  their  clothes  and  turn  from  them  without  interest 
or  expectation.  A  file  of  soldiers  bent  upon  war.  A  file 
of  workmen  bent  upon  a  strike.  One  threatens  liberty. 
The  other  condones  liberty.  The  soldier  with  his  tuft 
is  holy.  The  striker  with  his  axe  is  malign.  Watch 
yourself.  Your  heart  will  get  away  from  you.  I  know 
you  only  too  well.  I  know  where  your  heart  belongs. 
I  know  where  your  heart  goes.  But  I  also  know  where 
liberty  belongs.  Where  liberty  goes. 

You  look  with 

awe  upon  a  battlefield.  Do  you  not  look  with  as  much 
awe  upon  your  tunnel?  Here  is  an  honest  battle.  A 
battle  with  the  rocks.  Here  is  a  battle  without  an  en- 

49 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

emy.  Here  is  a  battle  without  murder.  Here  is  a  bat 
tle  in  which  no  brother  takes  up  his  arms  against  a 
brother.  Yet  this  battle,  too,  has  its  victims.  And 
you  look  on  and  think  and  say  nothing.  You  are  non 
chalant  and  uninformed.  What  is  the  matter?  Here 
is  an  honest  battle.  This  battle  is  fought  on  a  fair  level 
of  human  enterprise.  You  look  down  into  these  holes 
in  the  ground  and  your  pulse  is  undisturbed.  You  turn 
round  to  Broadway,  meet  a  battalion  of  soldiers,  and 
you  become  alive  with  the  fire  of  a  martial  exaltation. 
What  is  the  matter?  That  man  is  a  hero  who  kills 
somebody.  But  the  man  who  ransoms  is  a  slave.  We 
have  mistaken  murder  for  manhood  and  given  it  a  first 
place  in  our  respect.  We  have  confused  labor  with 
degradation  and  reduced  it  below  the  plane  of  its  proper 
nobility.  If  you  go  into  our  schools  and  ask  the  chil 
dren  to  tell  you  the  name  of  a  contemporary  hero  they 
will  tell  you  that  Funston  is  a  hero.  No  child  is  so 
taught  that  he  would  think  of  Debs  as  a  hero.  Do  you 
wonder  that  children  grow  up  able  to  respond  to  the 
drum  and  fife  and  unable  to  respond  to  the  pick  and 
shovel?  When  the  state  manufactures  emblems  it 
makes  them  of  a  military  or  juridical  character.  No 
state  has  ever  yet  thought  to  symbolize  itself  in  the  in 
struments  of  labor.  Yet  labor  starts  all  and  finishes 
all.  Labor  bestows  the  first  rough  and  the  last  finesse 
upon  all  the  art  and  circumstance  of  life.  No  state,  no 
church,  no  parlor,  no  anything,  would  stand  for  an  in 
stant  with  labor  removed  from  its  foundations.  Labor 

50 


THE  BLOOD  OF  THE  MARTYRS 

even  put  your  bible  on  your  pulpit.  It  even  put  your 
love  into  your  heart.  The  very  labor  that  is  blasting  a 
tunnel  under  your  metropolis.  The  very  labor  whose 
victims  are  day  by  day  carried  up  from  these  under 
ground  caverns  and  to  their  homes  in  the  shadow  of  a 
dreadful  popular  unconcern.  Day  by  day  until  the 
cloud  is  five  hundred  victims  black  and  dense. 

The  sol 
dier  kills.  You  pension  his  wounds.  You  pension  his 
death.  The  more  he  kills,  the  more  ornamental  the 
incidents  of  his  rapine,  the  more  his  pension,  the  greater 
his  renown.  The  laborer  saves.  You  condemn  his 
wounds.  You  ignore  his  death.  His  family  are  not 
made  pensioners.  They  are  made  paupers.  If  the 
event  of  his  death  is  sufficiently  dramatic  you  put  him 
vaguely  in  the  category  of  "ten  men  killed "  in  the  dis 
play  head  of  the  daily  papers.  Then  finis.  The  sol 
dier's  family  reports  at  the  treasury.  The  laborer's 
family  reports  at  the  poorhouse.  That  is  as  far  along 
as  justice  has  got.  But  justice  has  not  got  far  along. 
Justice  still  defers  to  medieval  ideals.  Doubts  itself. 
If  justice  was  justice  you  would  take  off  your  hat  to 
these  men.  They  patiently  go  into  the  ground  to  do  you 
their  perilous  service.  You  would  regard  them  with 
reverence.  Their  soiled  hands  and  clothes  would  be 
come  irradiant.  You  would  pay  the  account.  Gladly 
pay  it.  Every  cent. 

These  martyrs  are  martyrs  in  spite 
of  you  and  in  spite  of  themselves.     They  are  martyrs 

51 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

because  of  themselves.  Their  martyrdom  is  not  a  mar 
tyrdom  of  flummery  and  decorations.  They  can  expect 
nothing  for  their  martyrdom.  Not  even  good  wages. 
Not  even  the  kind  words  of  the  master.  Their  mar 
tyrdom  is  lowest  in  form  and  highest  in  substance. 
Their  martyrdom  is  a  cry.  You  are  deaf.  A  picture. 
You  are  blind.  It  is  a  martyrdom  that  sleeps  in  a  gar 
ret  and  winds  up  on  the  poorlist.  It  is  a  martyrdom  of 
which  history  says  nothing.  It  is  a  martyrdom  that  has 
to  be  satisfied  with  martyrdom.  It  gets  no  honors. 
The  formal  plaudits  of  the  world  go  to  the  formal  mar 
tyrdoms.  The  soldier  reappears  in  salons,  in  halls  of 
legislation,  in  coats  of  arms  and  on  the  arms  of  coats. 
But  the  laborer — he  passes  into  oblivion  by  the  easiest 
and  darkest  way.  You  sun  your  soldiers.  You  shadow 
your  laborers. 

Some  men  die  that  you  may  live.  Some 
on  scaffolds.  Some  on  crosses.  Some  on  battlefields. 
Some  in  tunnels.  Why  should  not  the  tunnel  be  as 
holy  as  the  cross?  What  is  there  about  the  tunnel 
which  removes  it  from  the  prescriptions  of  your  rever 
ence?  You  can  understand  Jesus  on  the  cross.  You 
can  understand  Savonarola,  burned  at  the  stake.  You 
can  understand  John  Brown,  executed  at  Harper's 
Ferry.  Why  do  you  fail  to  understand  this  somebody 
sacrificed  in  the  tunnel  ?  I  do  not  say  that  the  cross  and 
the  stake  and  the  scaffold  have  tricked  you.  But  I  do 
say  that  the  tunnel  has  tricked  you.  Or  that  you  have 
tricked  the  tunnel.  For  if  you  fail  to  understand  the 

52 


WHAT  IS  THE  USE? 

tunnel  you  deny  all  martyrdom.  You  affront  the  con 
tinuity  of  history.  For  the  tunnel  belongs  to  the  cross 
by  the  same  subtle  chain  of  faith  that  gives  the  cross 
to  the  tunnel. 

He  died  humbly  crushed  underneath  a 
rock.  They  have  brought  him  out  of  the  ground. 
His  face  is  pale  but  satisfied.  Your  city  of  millions 
will  not  stay  in  its  heavy  round  to  regard  his  anonymous 
visage.  Yet  this  unknown  man  has  saved  your  city. 
But  for  him  your  city  could  not  exist.  All  labor  lies 
there  prostrate  in  his  inert;  form.  Come  out  of  your 
churches,  all  of  you,  and  worship  here.  Leave  your 
creeds  behind.  This  is  creed  enough.  Worship  here. 
Here  is  religion  enough. 

WHAT  IS  What  is  the  use?  That's  so.  Why 
THE  USE?  should  we  prolong  this  fight?  Is  the 
fight  not  hopeless  ?  Do  we  not  owe  our  family  an  im 
mediate  debt  ?  What  business  of  ours  is  the  business 
of  the  future  ?  Have  we  any  right  to  starve  the  pres 
ent  to  feed  the  future  ?  Why  should  we  not  sharpen 
our  knives  and  our  wits  and  do  what  sanguinary 
execution  we  can  with  the  conditions  that  exist?  The 
past  has  given  me  an  inheritance  of  struggle.  Why 
should  I  not  pass  that  inheritance  on  ?  Why  should  I 
sweat  and  bleed  and  go  hungry  and  cold  for  the  sake 
of  the  unborn  ?  I  have  suffered  long  enough.  I  have 
submitted  to  dispossession.  I  have  seen  robbery  all 
about  me  and  have  not  robbed.  Why  should  I  not 

53 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

rob  ?  What  but  robbery  can  protect  me  against  the 
robber  ? 

I  have  wandered  across  the  earth  hungry  with 
a  conscience.  But  what  is  the  use  of  a  conscience 
if  it  keeps  me  hungry  ?  The  table  is  spread  with 
plenty.  I  have  refused  to  eat.  Why  ?  I  have  doubt 
ed  my  title.  Why  should  I  doubt  my  title  ?  Why 
should  I  not  make  my  grab  ?  The  world  does  not 
admire  the  hungry  man.  It  admires  the  man  who  has 
proved  that  he  can  confiscate.  It  admires  fat  necks 
and  bulging  bellies.  It  doffs  to  the  overfed.  Who  is 
the  overfed  ?  He  is  the  man  with  two  appetites  and 
no  conscience.  He  is  the  man  who  grows  tired  of  ar 
guments  over  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  history.  There 
is  no  right  to  a  man  who  goes  without  his  meal.  Nor 
is  there  any  wrong  to  a  man  who  has  plenty.  So  I 
am  to  slice  out  my  share  of  the  universal  patrimony. 
The  priests  have  warned  me  off.  The  police  have 
warned  me  off.  The  state,  the  church,  the  castes,  have 
warned  me  off.  But  none  of  the  warners  get  off  them 
selves.  Why  should  I  get  off  ? 

Why  should  I  stay  out 

in  the  cold  clad  only  in  a  conscience  ?  Or  go  about 
with  a  stomach  empty  of  everything  but  its  conscience  ? 
What  is  this  nettle  that  pesters  me  ?  I  start  into  the 
scramble.  It  holds  me  back.  I  want  to  swindle.  It 
holds  me  back.  I  am  determined  to  take  the  roses 
from  the  cheeks  of  the  children.  Others  do  it.  Why 
should  I  not  do  it  ?  But  that  nettlesome  something  or 

54 


WHAT  IS  THE  USE? 

other  holds  me  back.  I  thought  if  the  night  got  very 
very  dark  I  could  sneak  a  fortune  out  of  some  shadow. 
But  dark  as  it  was  my  tormentor  found  and  frustrated 
me.  I  thought  if  the  day  got  very  very  light  and  the 
streets  very  very  crowded  I  might  successfully  work  a 
flush  on  the  commercial  world  in  the  confusing  dazzle 
and  hurry.  But  I  felt  the  sunbeams  prick  me  off  my 
suicidal  design. 

I  have  murder  in  me.  I  have  theft  in 
me.  Why  should  I  not  maim  and  kill  the  children  ? 
Why  should  I  not  tax  the  first  youth  and  the  last  old  age 
of  my  fellow  beings  ?  Why  should  I  not  extract  from 
the  returns  of  toil  the  soul  and  sinew  of  reward?  Why 
should  I  scruple  in  a  world  unscrupulous  ?  Does  it 
hurt  me  to  see  the  man  that  I  rob  suffer  ?  Why  does 
it  hurt  me  ?  I  am  a  timid  adventurer.  Why  should  I 
pioneer  for  love  in  an  age  of  graft?  There  is  nothing 
villainy  does  I  might  not  do  if  I  went  to  work  as  villainy 
works  and  cared  as  little  for  the  grief  of  wronged  men 
and  women  and  children  as  villainy  cares.  I  am  at 
cross  purposes  with  myself.  I  am  hungry  to  be  a 
scoundrel.  I  am  eager  to  rob. 

Why  should  my  faith 

be  loafing  round  with  Buddha  and  Jesus  and  Whit 
man  and  Morris  when  it  might  be  busy  cutting  cou 
pons  off  the  souls  of  the  poor  ?  For  this  is  a  coupon 
world.  It  is  a  world  of  the  trespasser.  The  way  of 
the  transgressor  is  velvet.  When  the  factories  whistle 
at  seven  in  the  morning  the  fleeced  return  to  the 

55 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

fleecer.  The  land  always  reverts  to  the  landlord. 
The  landlord  sells  you  your  own  land  each  day  and 
takes  it  back  without  pay  before  nightfall.  The  har 
vest  reports  to  the  owner  instead  of  to  the  man.  Civili 
zation  reports  everything  in  profits  rather  than  in  souls. 
Why  should  1  go  back  on  civilization  ?  Why  should 
I  get  civilization  at  odds  with  myself  ?  Why  should  I 
not  conform  ?  What  can  the  future  do  for  me  ?  I  can 
do  everything  for  it.  It  stands  beyond.  Helpless.  It 
cannot  reciprocate. 

My  nest  needs  feathering.  Should 
I  not  feather  it  at  your  expense  ?  I  can  make  you  pay 
my  debts.  Why  should  I  let  the  chance  slip  ?  You 
who  work  in  my  shop.  You  who  scribble  at  my  desk. 
You,  any  of  you,  who  honestly  produce.  You  who 
run  the  necessary  errands.  You  who  turn  the  neces 
sary  wheels.  I  am  too  much  disturbed  by  your  mis 
eries.  Why  should  I  spoil  my  good  dinner  for  think 
ing  of  your  bad  dinner  ?  Why  should  I  stay  awake 
nights  wondering  how  my  soul  can  settle  the  debts  of 
the  poor  ?  Damn  my  soul.  Damn  the  poor.  What 
business  have  the  poor  to  their  poverty  anyway  ?  Why 
should  I  have  a  loss  column  on  the  other  side  of  my 
ledger  ? 

The  world  is  a  world  of  profit.  Why  should 
I  not  accept  the  standards  of  the  profit-bearing  world  ? 
I  know  profits  are  not  nice.  I  know  that  profit  is 
theft.  But  theft  cannot  be  wrong.  For  profit  is 
preached  in  the  churches  in  the  name  of  God  and  pro- 

56 


WHAT  IS  THE  USE? 

vided  for  in  the  legislatures  in  the  name  of  the  state. 
So  profit  must  be  right.  How  can  I  expect  to  survive 
if  I  set  myself  up  against  the  laws  of  nature  and  the  cus 
toms  of  man  ?  We  talk  about  love.  But  love  is  not 
intended  for  a  world  of  competition.  What  can  love 
do  for  a  man  who  has  got  to  hate  all  his  neighbors  to 
save  himself  from  economic  perdition  ?  What  use  can 
love  be  put  to  in  a  musket  ?  What  use  has  supply  and 
demand  for  love  ?  I  ask  interest  what  it  can  do  for 
love  and  interest  replies :  "  The  same  thing  that  love 
can  do  for  me.  I  can  destroy  love."  I  ask  rent  what 
it  can  do  for  love,  and  profit,  too,  and  rent  and  profit 
answer :  "  We  can  do  for  love  what  interest  can  do  for 
love."  I  shed  fool  tears  over  the  woes  of  the  slave. 
The  slave?  Who  is  the  slave?  I  am  the  slave.  The 
bubble  bursts. 

I  might  just  as  well  go  fast  asleep  as  be 
honest.  Everybody  is  stealing  from  somebody.  Some 
steal  from  everybody.  We  live  in  a  lawless  world  ded 
icated  to  law.  We  worship  the  legislature  and  blas 
pheme  against  gravitation.  Justice  is  gravitation.  But 
of  what  use  is  justice  in  a  world  of  ambushes  ?  Let 
me,  too,  ambush  somebody.  Let  me  ambush  some 
body  in  a  sermon.  Culture  is  an  ambush.  Theft  en 
dows  culture.  Let  me  ambush  somebody  in  a  poem. 
I  will  paint  an  ambush  in  a  picture.  I  will  sing  an 
ambush  in  a  song.  Every  factory  is  an  ambush. 
Every  store  is  an  ambush.  God  does  not  reign.  Jus 
tice  does  not  govern.  Ambush  both  reigns  and  gov- 

57 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

erns.  What  is  it  that  makes  the  children's  faces  in 
America  so  deathly  pale  ?  What  is  it  that  makes  the 
mothers  so  quickly  old?  What  is  it  that  bends  the 
backs  of  the  fathers?  It  is  ambush.  Our  civilization 
has  ambushed  the  peoples.  The  peoples  are  decoyed. 
Why  should  I  undertake  to  resist  a  force  so  tragically  po 
tential  ?  Throw  your  children  to  the  ambush.  Throw 
your  heart  after  them.  Of  what  use  is  the  heart  ?  Your 
heart  is  only  in  the  way.  Give  hell  a  chance  to  fire  up 
and  get  a  start.  Ambush.  Civilization  does  not  say  : 
ft  Love  one  another."  It  says  :  "  Ambush  one  anoth 
er."  That  is  the  path  of  safety.  The  most  successful 
ambusher  is  regarded  as  the  most  civilized  man.  Am 
bush  lest  you  be  ambushed.  Instead  of  "  Do  unto  oth 
ers  "  read  "  Ambush  others  before  you  are  ambushed 
yourself." 

Am  I  to  be  a  jack  and  attempt  to  stem  that 
tide  ?  I  have  resisted  long  enough.  Now  let  me  con 
form.  No  one  will  buy  my  dreams.  No  one  will  buy 
my  love.  Let  me  coin  my  native  clay  and  trick  with 
hate  the  opportunities  of  the  market.  If  the  children 
die — well,  then  they  die.  What  have  I  to  do  with  any 
child  not  born  under  my  own  roof  ?  The  children 
themselves  are  a  menace  to  each  other.  There  are 
reasons  why  the  parents  of  every  child  should  hate  the 
parents  of  every  other  child.  Why  should  we  go  about 
inviting  the  scorn  of  the  unregenerated?  I  give  my 
self  up  to  the  nearest  stall.  Take  me.  Buy  me.  Sell 
me.  For  cash.  For  influence.  For  heaven.  For 

58 


—CIVILIZATION,  WHO  ARE  SO  VERY  BIG 

hell.  For  anything.  Take  me.  I  am  labeled  and 
priced.  Take  me.  What  is  the  use  ? 

YOU,  CIVILIZA-  You  are  a  big  thing,  civilization. 
TION,  WHO  ARE  But  why  should  I  be  afraid  to 
SO  VER  Y  BIG  challenge  you  ?  You  are  mak 
ing  a  loud  noise.  You  are  full  of  swag  and  swagger. 
You  are  much  too  big  for  your  size.  You  are  much 
too  little  for  your  name.  You  have  possessed  yourself 
of  the  earth.  But  why  should  I  be  afraid  to  challenge 
you? 

Yes,  civilization,  you  do  wonderful  things.  You 
perform  miracles.  You  invent  marvels  in  mechanism. 
You  have  taken  the  material  forces  of  the  universe  into 
your  confidence.  You  have  done  enough  to  have  done 
more.  You  have  failed  in  so  much  I  wonder  that  you 
have  succeeded  in  anything.  I  stand  here  with  my 
hat  off  loving  your  magnificence.  I  stand  here  with 
my  hat  on  hating  your  shame.  You,  civilization,  you 
with  your  loud  words.  You,  civilization,  you  with  your 
big  brute  body.  Why  should  I  be  afraid  to  challenge 
you? 

Why  should  my  soul  confess  judgment  to  a  sky 
scraper  ?  Why  should  I  admit  that  the  biggest  thing 
you  can  produce  in  the  world  outside  of  my  heart  is 
one  bit  as  great  as  that  heart  itself  ?  Why  should  I 
flatter  civilization  ?  If  I  do  not  like  its  face  why  should 
I  not  say  so  ?  If  I  do  not  like  its  ways  and  means  why 
should  I  amen  it  in  my  daily  prayers  ?  Why  should 

59 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

I  go  on  monkeying  the  formula  of  the  market  ?  The 
formula  of  the  market  is  this  :  Civilization  is  so  big  in 
acres  and  will  sell  for  so  many  dollars,  therefore  civili 
zation  is  civilization.  Why  should  I  be  scared  when 
you  quote  the  railroad  against  me  ?  Why  should  my 
ideals  apologize  to  the  telephone  ?  Why  should  all 
that  is  big  in  my  soul  abase  itself  to  all  that  is  little  in 
the  world  outside  my  soul  ?  That  little  all  which  knows 
no  appeal  beyond  the  stock  exchange  ?  Why  should 
I  go  on  swearing  the  old  oaths  ?  Why  should  I  take 
up  the  catch  phrases  of  secular  culture  and  of  the 
church  and  count  them  as  the  ark  and  covenant  of  eco 
nomic  revelation  ?  I  am  willing  to  be  your  fool.  I  am 
willing  to  suffer  your  disdain.  But  I  will  challenge 
you,  civilization. 

I  want  to  ask  you  why  you  have  so 
much  money  and  are  so  very  poor?  I  want  to  ask 
you  how  you  can  lock  the  hungry  outside  your  grana 
ries  and  call  yourself  civilized  ?  You  have  talked  too 
long  about  your  manners  and  your  miles.  Civilization 
does  not  demand  quantity.  It  demands  quality.  I  am 
not  humbled  when  you  tell  me  how  many  incomes  of  a 
certain  size  you  enjoy.  I  am  barbed  with  uncomforta 
ble  questions.  I  demand  to  know  how  many  lives  of 
a  certain  kind  you  live.  Until  you  live  all  lives  up  to 
the  standard  of  the  exceptional  life  your  bond  is  void. 
Until  every  child  is  given  a  chance  to  enjoy  childhood 
without  the  fear  of  maturity.  Until  every  parent  is 
given  a  chance  to  enjoy  maturity  without  the  haunting 

60 


—CIVILIZATION,  WHO  ARE  SO  VERY  BIG 

dread  of  the  master  and  of  want.  Are  you,  civilization, 
doing  anything  to  reduce  the  number  of  people  who 
suffer  your  neglect  ?  Why  are  your  lights  so  abnor 
mally  white  and  your  shadows  so  abnormally  black? 
Tell  me  these  things.  I  do  not  see  that  any  questions 
are  answered  until  these  questions  are  answered.  And 
I  intend  asking  these  questions  until  you  have  answered 
them  in  the  spirit  of  a  universal  providence.  They  are 
uncomfortable.  They  are  bitter.  You  hate  them  be 
cause  they  hurt  you.  You  hate  me  because  they  are  the 
rebel  progeny  of  my  gestating  dreams.  Hate  me.  But 
I  ask  them.  And  you  must  answer  them  to  the  last 
letter. 

You  have  expatriated  the  darling  faith  of  the  race. 
But  you  must  call  it  home.  I  am  not  afraid  to  avow 
myself  against  all  your  show.  I  would  give  tons  of 
your  show  for  an  ounce  of  your  substance.  You  think 
that  because  you  are  big  nothing  can  happen  to  you. 
But  the  big  bad  thing  can  have  anything  happen  to  it. 
And  even  as  to  bigness.  How  big  are  you  if  you  are 
an  oppressor  ?  How  big  are  you  if  the  most  of  men 
are  afraid  to  go  to  bed  at  night  because  they  suspect 
that  you  may  play  them  some  cowardly  turn  while  they 
sleep  ?  How  much  smaller  than  small  is  any  immen 
sity  with  justice  left  out  ?  How  much  bigger  than  big 
is  any  atom  whose  miniature  circle  encloses  justice? 
Civilization  is  justice.  I  am  not  fooled  when  you  pro 
fanely  testify  to  the  magnificence  of  your  private  for 
tunes.  Civilization  impeaches  the  private  fortune.  It 

61 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

refuses  to  consider  the  individual  as  conclusive  in  a 
crowded  world.  Civilization  will  admit  no  private 
deed.  It  will  acquiesce  in  no  policy  by  which  the 
mass  is  betrayed  to  the  individual.  I  am  not  afraid  of 
civilization.  Civilization,  the  thing  we  call  civilization, 
a  brazen  bastard  civilization,  came,  avowing  itself  in 
huge  conceit.  Civilization  came  asking  questions  of 
the  world.  I  come  asking  questions  of  civilization. 
The  world  can  as  easily  get  rid  of  civilization  as  civili 
zation  can  get  rid  of  me.  You  are  a  big  thing,  civiliza 
tion.  But  you  may  break  of  your  own  mass.  Only 
one  thing  can  save  you.  Equity  can  save  you.  The 
poor  man  given  enough  can  save  you.  Private  become 
public  property  can  save  you.  The  land  reverted  to 
the  people  can  save  you.  Everything  for  all  can  save 
you.  Three  thousand  miles  of  land  cannot  save  you. 
Nor  as  many  miles  of  sea.  But  a  world  of  free  men 
can  save  you.  Free  men.  Men  refusing  ownership. 
Men  rejecting  the  owner.  Children  born  of  free  moth 
ers  and  fathers.  These  can  save  you.  The  hovel  can 
not  save  you.  The  palace  cannot  save  you.  Nor  va 
cations  in  summer.  Nor  cigars  and  wines  and  dinners 
and  dresses.  Nor  tennis.  Nor  ease  and  indulgence. 
For  ease  and  indulgence  are  always  enjoyed  at  someone 
else's  expense.  These  cannot  save  you.  These  may 
damn  you.  Or  they  may  be  the  evidence  of  your  dam 
nation. 

I  asked  you  how  big  you  were,  civilization,  and 
you  handed  me  a  pair  of  scales.     But  could  any  man 

62 


—CIVILIZATION,  WHO  ARE  SO  VERY  BIG 

by  weighing  anything  find  civilization  ?  You  referred 
me  to  the  astronomer.  But  the  heavens  sent  me  no 
news.  You  referred  me  to  the  microscopist.  But  the 
dust  sent  me  no  news.  But  when  you  referred  me  to 
the  heart,  the  heart  sent  me  news.  For  the  heart  sent 
love.  And  with  love  was  aroused  in  man  the  obscured 
splendors  of  his  exiled  faith.  For  man  has  a  right  to 
believe  that  he  may  exact  a  full  return  for  the  labor  of 
his  hand  and  brain.  And  a  full  return  is  not  property 
but  opportunity.  Man  does  not  want  property.  He 
wants  opportunity.  He  does  not  ask  civilization  to 
pay  him  dollars  and  cents.  He  asks  it  to  give  him 
chances.  A  man  with  a  million  dollars  and  no  chance 
is  as  poor  as  the  most  abject  serf.  A  man  without  a 
dollar  and  with  a  chance  is  the  acknowledged  heir  to 
all  the  utilities  of  the  spheres.  Civilization,  you  must 
learn  how  to  keep  every  dollar  eternally  shut.  You 
must  learn  how  to  keep  every  opportunity  eternally 
open.  You  are  a  big  thing,  civilization.  But  until  you 
have  learned  the  lesson  of  the  shut  dollar  and  the  open 
opportunity  you  will  be  big  for  bad  rather  than  big  for 
good.  You  are  a  big  thing,  civilization.  But  you  are 
not  big  enough  to  survive  the  lock  and  bar  of  your 
own  proscriptions.  You  are  a  big  thing,  civilization. 
But  there  is  a  cry  going  up  from  the  heart  of  man  that 
is  bigger  than  the  trebled  syllables  of  your  braggart 
creed.  You  are  a  big  thing,  civilization.  But  we  will 
not  let  you  rest  until  you  have  satisfied  the  last  call  of 
the  economic  providences.  You  may  stop  short  of 

63 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

your  own  last  word.  But  you  cannot  stop  short  of  this 
demand.  The  debt  is  accrued.  You  must  pay.  You 
may  hide  from  the  sun.  But  you  cannot  hide  from 
this  intimate  call  of  the  equities.  You,  civilization, 
who  are  so  very  big. 

THERE  IS  There  is  no  escape  for  you.  You  have 
NO  ESCAPE  got  to  report.  You  have  got  to  report 
to  civilization.  Civilization  is-  asking  you  questions 
which  you  must  answer.  You  with  your  millions.  You 
with  your  thousands.  You  with  your  dollar.  You 
have  got  to  report.  Civilization  is  examining  its  dol 
lars.  It  is  trying  every  dollar  by  a  test  of  justice.  It 
is  going  back  of  the  reputation  of  the  dollar  to  the  char 
acter  of  the  dollar.  You  cannot  escape  the  inqui 
sition.  It  is  granting  no  concessions.  It  is  making 
no  exceptions.  Property  has  got  to  report  to  the  soul. 
The  soul  is  civilization. 

We  are  going  to  wash  every 

dollar  clean.  We  will  wash  and  wash  until  it  is  clean. 
We  suspect  every  dollar.  Every  dollar  is  as  bloody 
as  the  hands  of  Lady  Macbeth.  Property  is  tangled 
and  mixed  with  cruelty.  We  must  make  property  hu 
man.  Property  now  starves  one  to  feed  another.  We 
will  have  property  starve  none  and  feed  all.  We  will 
not  permit  one  item  of  value  to  escape  unscrutinized. 
We  will  subject  all  possession  to  the  most  drastic  in 
dictment.  The  first  dollar  of  the  poor,  the  last  dollar 
of  the  rich,  the  stolen  dollar  of  the  thief,  the  prayed 

64 


THERE  IS  NO  ESCAPE 

dollar  of  the  anchorite,  the  soiled  dollar  of  the  prosti 
tute,  the  virgin  dollar  of  virtue,  must  all  come  to  the 
same  bar,  must  all  be  justified  in  the  same  court,  must 
all  confess  judgment  to  the  same  tribunal  of  the  heart. 
There  is  no  escape.  You  think  that  you  can  dodge  with 
your  dollars  round  the  chairs  of  professors  in  colleges 
or  of  editors  in  sanctums.  You  think  that  if  you  can 
put  your  dollars  into  the  prayers  of  the  priest  all  will  be 
forgiven.  You  think  that  if  the  poet  will  rhyme  your 
dollars,  that  if  the  singer  will  sing  your  dollars,  that  if 
the  painter  will  paint  your  dollars,  your  dollars  may  es 
cape  the  perilous  questions.  But  after  the  rhyme  has 
been  rhymed,  after  the  song  has  been  sung,  after  the 
picture  has  been  painted,  after  the  cherished  silences 
have  convened,  the  question  still  remains,  interrogating, 
forever  interrogating,  your  fortressed  fortunes. 

Every 

time  an  injustice  appears  in  a  world  every  dollar  in  that 
world  must  turn  back  to  the  heart  to  report.  Some 
dollars  may  be  sanctioned.  Some  may  be  condemned. 
Some  may  be  forgiven.  But  all  must  report.  Every 
dollar  in  the  world  must  report  to  the  pale  face  of  the 
child  of  the  courts.  Every  dollar  must  report  to  the 
overworked  men  and  women.  Every  dollar  must  re 
port  to  the  tenements.  Every  dollar  must  report  to 
the  table  without  food.  Every  dollar  must  report  to 
labor.  Every  dollar  must  turn  back  to  the  heart  suing 
for  permission  to  live.  But  for  labor  no  dollar  can  ex 
ist.  But  for  the  consent  of  labor  no  dollar  can  loaf. 

65 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

But  for  labor  no  dollar  can  yacht  or  dine  or  jewel  itself 
in  the  leisure  of  exploitation.  There  is  no  escape.  You 
have  enjoyed  your  extras.  Now  they  are  being  called 
in.  Labor  is  finding  that  it  has  been  too  generous. 
It  is  wondering  why  it  should  fatten  you  with  plenty 
and  starve  itself.  It  has  been  comparing  the  rosy 
cheeks  of  your  children  with  the  pale  faces  of  its  own 
darlings.  It  has  been  first  asking  itself  a  few  questions. 
Now  it  is  asking  the  same  questions  of  you.  It  asks 
you  to  report  on  yourself.  It  demands  that  you  give 
reasons  for  your  superior  increments.  Why  should 
they  continue  ?  What  did  you  ever  do  to  create  them  ? 
What  are  you  doing  to  give  them  vitality  ?  It  calls  you 
home  from  your  indulgences.  What  can  you  say  for 
yourself  ?  No  plea  of  exemption  or  incompetency  will 
be  allowed.  No  proxy  will  be  recognized.  No  coun 
sel.  You  must  put  in  an  appearance.  The  court  is 
convened  to  hear  you,  sick  or  well.  You  must  answer 
in  the  first  person.  You  must  plead.  This  is  a  court 
which  palliates  no  default.  You  dare  not  pettifog 
your  case.  You  must  set  up  a  defence.  You  must 
come  here  with  every  dollar  and  justify  its  genesis. 
For  this  is  the  court  of  the  industrial  democracy.  This 
is  the  rallying  spot  of  the  verities.  Every  dollar  must 
be  checked  off  with  justice.  Every  dollar  that  justice 
cannot  check  is  forfeited.  Here  you  are  called.  Here 
you  must  come.  Speak.  We  listen. 

Your  cities  and 
your  fortunes  are  so  big.     And  the  heart  is  so  small. 

66 


THERE  IS  NO  ESCAPE 

Yet  your  cities  and  your  fortunes  must  win  the  acqui 
escence  of  the  heart.  With  the  favors  of  the  heart, 
which  are  the  favors  of  justice,  withdrawn,  your  cities 
are  depopulated  and  your  fortunes  are  ciphered.  Dare 
you  call  a  city  without  heart  big  ?  Dare  you  call  any 
single  humble  man  full  of  heart  small  ?  Come,  now, 
let  us  hear  what  you  have  to  say  for  yourself.  Look 
labor  in  the  face  and  tell  it  the  truth  about  yourself. 
Labor  has  been  very  decent  with  you.  It  has  tolerated 
your  inroads  for  a  long  time.  It  has  never  flatly  re 
sented  your  incursions.  You  have  built  up  kingdoms 
and  plutocracies  on  the  back  of  labor.  You  have 
charged  the  costs  of  culture  to  labor.  Every  col 
lege  represents  an  enforced  tribute.  The  avenues  of 
leisure  which  labor  has  initiated  you  have  enjoyed. 
You  have  charged  labor  every  sort  of  toll  on  the  very 
roads  which  but  for  labor  would  never  have  been 
broken.  Now  labor  has  seen  with  at  least  one  eye, 
heard  with  at  least  one  ear  and  questions  with  at  least 
one  lip.  What  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself  ? 
There  is  no  escape. 

Labor  is  not  going  to  borrow  the 
weapons  of  earthquakes  and  waterspouts.  It  is  simply 
going  to  swarm  on  its  own  roads,  occupy  its  own  home 
steads,  enjoy  its  own  pleasures,  work  out  the  measure 
and  shape  of  its  own  will,  and  leave  you  to  fall  in  line 
in  the  one  way  that  will  secure  you  against  annihilation. 
Labor  is  not  going  to  destroy  anything.  It  is  not  go 
ing  to  destroy  even  you.  It  is  going  to  use  everything. 

67 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

It  is  going  to  use  you.  Labor  does  not  say  you  are 
useless.  Labor  says  you  are  useful.  And  to  prove 
you  against  yourself  labor  is  going  to  make  use  of  you. 
Labor  is  not  going  to  let  you  loaf  any  longer.  For  la 
bor  has  decreed  that  the  loafer  shall  not  loaf.  Only 
the  worker  shall  loaf.  Labor  says  that  when  you  have 
earned  your  loaf  you  shall  have  it.  But  you  may  no 
longer  loaf  on  the  earnings  of  others.  Labor  believes 
that  you  are  deaf  and  blind.  It  believes  that  you  have 
not  heard  the  cries  or  seen  the  wretched  tenements  of 
the  poor.  Labor  believes  that  if  you  knew  from  what 
your  surfeiting  usufruct  was  derived  you  would  refuse 
its  gifts.  So  labor  will  instruct  you.  The  best  instruc 
tion  for  any  doubter  is  work.  He  who  does  work 
knows  what  work  may  mean  and  what  is  its  due. 
There  is  no  escape. 

Come  now,  you  with  your  yachts 
and  your  perfumes,  you  with  your  margins  and  priori 
ties,  you  with  your  lorded  lands  and  palaces.  Come, 
bringing  along  your  dollars.  Explain  them.  Do  not 
leave  one  dollar  behind.  You  will  be  required  to  ex 
plain  them  all.  This  is  a  court  of  last  resort.  You 
have  escaped  other  tribunals.  Here  is  the  everlasting 
eye.  Here  is  the  everlasting  ear.  Yes,  here  is  the 
everlasting  heart.  Call  it  labor.  Call  it  justice.  Call 
it  civilization.  I  do  not  care  what  you  call  it.  This  is 
where  the  beginningless  God  begins  and  the  endless 
God  ends.  This  sacred  enclosure,  this  holy  open. 
This  valley  of  interrogation,  this  hilltop  of  question. 

68 


IF  JUSTICE  IS  IMPOSSIBLE 

Here  the  long  enchained  labor  of  the  world  stands  free 
at  last  demanding  your  report.  There  is  no  escape. 

IF  JUSTICE  IS  Impossible  ?  Why  is  it  impossible  ? 
IMPOSSIBLE  Why  must  you  surrender  without 
a  fight?  You  have  fought?  Yes.  But  you  have 
not  fought  enough.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  big 
fortunes  scare  you?  They  should  not  scare  you. 
They  should  inspire  you.  You  talk  of  the  impossi 
ble.  What  is  impossible  to  the  soul  ?  As  long  as  the 
soul  itself  is  possible  anything  is  possible  to  the  soul. 
Does  Morgan  seem  too  big  for  the  soul  ?  Nothing  is 
too  big  for  the  soul.  The  smallest  soul  must  outclass 
and  outsize  the  biggest  fortune.  Come,  now.  I  know 
that  you  carry  vicarious  burdens.  I  know  that  you  are 
robbed  and  despised.  But  you  have  the  soul  left. 
And  the  soul  is  invariable  and  invulnerable.  I  know 
that  all  Rockefeller's  booty  cannot  save  civilization. 
But  I  know  that  your  soul  can  save  civilization.  I  ap 
peal  to  your  soul. 

Impossible  ?  Was  your  mother  im 
possible?  If  justice  is  impossible  how  did  it  happen 
that  you  were  possible  ?  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  when  Parry  talks  the  weapons  drop  out  of  your 
hands  ?  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  when  Carnegie 
gives  away  a  library  your  pulse  goes  down  ?  Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  when  Morgan  buys  a  picture  the 
face  of  your  ideal  is  clouded  ?  Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  you  confess  bankruptcy  when  Rockefeller  talks 

69 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

religion  ?  What  do  you  mean  when  you  speak  of  the 
impossible  ?  Anything  is  possible  to  a  man  with  jus 
tice  in  his  heart.  The  arrogant  personal  fortunes  have 
been  possible  only  because  you  are  sterile.  But  the 
instant  you  fructify  the  confusing  mists  will  dissipate. 
The  beneficiaries  tremble.  They  exist  by  your  yes. 
When  you  say  no  they  resign.  Your  will  has  been  their 
way.  Your  will  becomes  your  own  way.  It  has  dallied 
sacrificially  with  the  impossible.  Let  the  impossible  be 
come  the  possible  in  the  will  of  man.  Then  no  for 
tune  will  be  a  menace.  Then  no  fortune  will  be  sworn 
to  the  welfare  of  the  castes.  The  impossible  destroys. 
The  possible  saves. 

Impossible?  What  is  possible  if 
this  is  impossible  ?  What  have  you  got  to  do  with  the 
impossible,  anyway  ?  Your  whole  business  is  with  the 
possible.  It  is  your  business  to  assume  that  anything, 
everything,  is  possible.  Is  life  possible  ?  Very  well, 
then.  Justice  is  possible.  For  justice  is  life.  Justice 
is  immortality.  Are  you  to  cringe  and  crawl  ?  Are 
you  to  concede  that  theft  is  possible  and  that  honesty 
is  not  possible  ?  Are  you  to  go  back  to  your  heart, 
to  your  soul,  and  concede  the  contention  of  the  ex 
ploiter?  You  have  soul  enough  to  dream  of  justice. 
Have  you  not  soul  enough  to  live  justice  ?  When  the 
dear  dreams  of  men  become  the  one  dream  of  man 
what  becomes  of  the  impossible  ?  You  admit  that  in 
justice  is  possible.  But  you  say  that  justice  is  impos 
sible.  Do  you  say  that  disease  is  possible  and  that 

70 


IF  JUSTICE  IS  IMPOSSIBLE 

health  is  impossible  ?  You  admit  that  property  for  the 
individual  is  possible.  But  you  say  that  property  for 
all  is  impossible.  Do  you  say  that  an  eclipse  is  possi 
ble  and  that  the  sun  is  impossible  ?  You  admit  that 
work  the  egoist  is  possible.  But  you  say  that  work 
the  altruist  is  impossible.  Do  you  say  that  the  foliage 
of  the  tree  is  possible  and  that  the  root  of  the  tree  is 
impossible  ? 

Impossible  ?  Before  the  trade  union  the 
trade  union  was  impossible.  And  now  that  you  have 
the  trade  union  the  thing  that  is  to  come  after  the  trade 
union  is  impossible.  Why  should  you  say  that  the 
morning  is  impossible  because  the  night  is  tired  ? 
Why  should  you  toast  your  enemy  as  possible  and  set 
yourself  aside  as  impossible  ?  The  impossible  is  burial. 
The  possible  is  resurrection.  The  impossible  builds 
no  sinew.  The  impossible  sets  no  table,  smooths  no 
bed,  raises  no  children.  The  impossible  is  blasphemy. 
The  possible  is  reverence. 

Impossible  ?     Do    you   put 

up  the  impossible  in  place  of  God  ?  Do  you  remove 
gravitation  from  its  throne  in  the  universe  and  substi 
tute  the  impossible?  Do  you  say  of  birth:  We  will 
have  no  more  birth,  we  will  have  the  impossible?  Do 
you  feel  like  a  stranger  with  the  possible  and  feel  at 
home  with  the  impossible  ?  Do  the  bitter  thing.  The 
sweet  thing.  The  thing  necessary  whatever  that  thing 
may  be.  The  impossible  thing.  The  world  is  always 
saying :  Impossible.  But  why  should  you  take  your 

71 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

cue  from  the  world  and  say  :  Impossible  ?  We  are  re 
ducing  the  area  of  the  impossible.  We  are  every  year 
surprising  the  protest  of  the  world  with  new  conquests. 
We  explore  the  unexplorable.  We  outtelescope  the 
telescope.  We  see  miniatures  below  the  last  reductions 
of  the  microscope.  We  revise  the  codes.  The  possi 
ble  is  always  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  impossible 
and  refusing  to  be  refused. 

Impossible  ?  Do  not  be 
lieve  it.  The  same  power  that  makes  private  property 
possible  is  to  make  a  better  than  private  property  pos 
sible.  The  same  law  that  injustice  invokes  we  invoke. 
It  will  not  come  right  until  we  invoke  it  right.  But  when 
we  invoke  it  right  nothing  can  prevent  the  enforcement 
of  its  decrees.  You  may  work  on  while  you  are  being 
served.  You  may  work  on  while  you  are  being  robbed. 
But  you  will  hope  on,  believe  on,  while  you  work. 
And  you  will  see  that  to  the  man  who  works  nothing 
is  impossible.  The  impossible  is  opposed  to  gravita 
tion.  The  impossible  breaks  the  strings  of  your  harp. 
The  impossible  shreds  and  patches  your  unstable  vir 
tues.  The  impossible  is  hell.  The  possible  is  heaven. 
The  impossible  is  sterile.  The  possible  is  fertile.  The 
impossible  starves  you  and  leaves  you  for  dead.  The 
possible  perpetually  waters  you  at  the  root. 

Impossible  ? 

We  are  to  look  the  universe  straight  in  the  eye  and 
find  the  whole  universe  possible.  For  if  justice  in  the 
universe  is  impossible  how  can  you  be  sure  of  the  uni- 

72 


I  LOOK  DEFEAT  FULL  IN  THE  FACE 

verse  ?  You  are  going  to  talk  to  the  people  about  their 
welfare.  But  how  can  you  talk  to  the  people  of  the  im 
possible  ?  You  who  talk  to  the  people  of  the  impos 
sible  might  as  well  say  to  the  people  that  the  universe  is 
dead  and  that  the  universe  has  forgotten  the  people  in 
its  will. 

/  LOOK  DE-  So  you  have  lost  your  strike.  I  am 
FEA  T  FULL  sorry  for  you.  You  are  back  at  your 
IN  THE  FACE  loom  again.  You  have  bowed  to 
the  inevitable.  You  are  back  with  your  bitter  silent 
thoughts.  You  are  back  with  your  sore  heart.  You 
who  are  defeated.  You  whom  the  masters  have  whipped 
into  your  black  stalls.  You,  the  slave  workers  of  the 
world.  You,  the  master  workers  of  the  world.  But 
who  says  you  are  defeated  ?  Your  masters  ?  But  the 
word  of  your  masters  is  not  defeat.  Or  do  you  say 
that  you  are  defeated  ?  If  you  say  you  are  defeated 
then  you  are  defeated.  If  you  say  you  are  defeated 
then  I  see  your  bare  backs  and  I  hear  the  whip  whistle 
and  I  see  the  blood  flow.  But  if  you  say  you  are  not 
defeated  then  I  see  you  safe  from  any  blow.  Who  says 
you  are  defeated  ? 

You  will  never  hear  me  say  that  you 
are  defeated,  dear  comrades.  You  may  make  conces 
sions.  But  I  will  make  no  concessions.  Do  you  think 
that  when  I  look  at  your  children  I  can  make  conces 
sions  ?  Do  you  think  I  could  look  the  sun  in  the  face 
and  make  concessions  ?  Could  I  admit  the  light  of  the 

73 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

sun  and  not  admit  the  light  of  the  soul  ?  Do  you  think 
I  could  admit  that  your  masters  can  forever  fatten  and 
that  the  slaves  of  your  masters  can  forever  thin  ?  Do 
you  think  I  can  admit  that  the  crops  will  come  year 
after  year  and  that  justice  will  not  come  ?  I  admit 
nothing  but  man.  I  admit  nothing  but  man's  work. 
I  admit  nothing  but  justice.  Do  you  think  I  can  ad 
mit  hunger  and  cannot  admit  surfeit  ?  Do  you  think 
I  admit  the  factory  entrance  and  do  not  admit  the  fac 
tory  exit  ?  Do  you  think  I  can  admit  that  slavery  can 
come  and  that  release  from  slavery  cannot  come  ?  I 
concede  nothing.  I  look  defeat  full  in  the  face  and 
concede  nothing.  If  I  conceded  defeat  I  would  con 
cede  eclipse.  I  would  concede  death.  I  do  not  concede 
death.  Nor  do  I  concede  defeat. 

I  know  the  worst  that 

defeat  may  be  made  to  mean.  But  I  do  not  concede 
defeat.  I  have  seen  all  the  ugliness  of  defeat.  The 
hunger  and  thirst  of  defeat.  The  chill,  the  cold,  of  de 
feat.  I  have  seen  defeat  take  the  pictures  off  your 
walls.  Take  the  music  out  of  your  house.  Take  the 
hope  out  of  your  heart.  Still  I  do  not  concede  defeat. 
Defeat  brings  you  your  landlord  grown  a  little  bigger. 
It  brings  you  your  money  lord  grown  a  little  more  ex 
acting.  It  puts  still  more  poison  at  the  sources  of  life. 
It  fills  the  world  with  watchers,  monitors,  censors,  tax- 
gatherers  and  usurers.  Yet  I  do  not  admit  defeat. 
How  could  I  admit  defeat?  If  I  admitted  defeat  I 
might  as  well  draw  my  last  cent  from  the  bank  and 

74 


I  LOOK  DEFEAT  FULL  IN  THE  FACE 

throw  it  away.  I  might  as  well  wipe  out  the  bank.  If 
I  admit  defeat  I  might  as  well  go  out  on  your  fields 
and  destroy  your  harvests.  What  is  the  use  of  any 
thing  if  any  concessions  are  made  to  defeat  ?  Dare  you 
go  home  to-night  and  tell  your  hungry  children  and 
overworked  wives  that  you  are  defeated  ?  Dare  you 
go  back  to  your  loom  to-morrow  and  tell  that  dumb 
instrument  that  you  are  defeated  ?  Do  you  have  any 
notion  what  defeat  means  ?  Cut  your  throat  with  a 
knife.  But  do  not  admit  that  you  are  defeated.  Jump 
into  the  river.  But  do  not  admit  that  you  are  defeated. 
Better  than  that.  Do  not  cut  your  throat.  Do  not 
jump  into  the  river.  Stay  where  you  are,  starve  where 
you  are,  but  do  not  admit  defeat.  Victories  are  not 
sums  total  of  victories.  Victories  are  sums  total  of  de 
feats.  A  defeat  admitted  is  a  burial.  A  defeat  denied 
is  a  resurrection. 

Your  masters  have  sent  you  to  bed 
whipped.  Will  you  get  up  to-morrow  morning  defi 
ant  ?  Your  temporary  report  is  made  to  defeat.  Your 
final  report  is  made  to  victory.  You  asked  for  ten  per 
cent.  You  asked  for  nine  hours.  You  asked  for  some 
thing.  You  got  nothing.  That  is,  nothing  except  a 
little  stiffening  of  the  fiber.  And  so  you  think  you 
were  licked.  But  I  tell  you  that  strengthening  of  the 
fiber  is  worth  more  to  you  than  ten  per  cent  or  than 
nine  hours.  Defeat  ?  This  world  is  your  world.  But 
you  have  thrown  away  the  title.  And  no  admitted  de 
feat  will  pick  up  that  title  for  you  again.  But  the  de- 

75 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

feats  that  you  will  not  admit  will  in  the  hour  of  your 
riper  courage  return  you  your  rejected  heritage.  You 
have  gone  back  to  your  factories  admitting  that  your 
title  is  forever  lost  or  that  it  never  existed.  Your  mast 
ers  go  back  to  their  clubs  and  champagne  your  defeat 
up  the  ecstasies  of  proprietorial  intoxication.  Is  your 
factory  defeat  for  good?  Is  their  club  victory  for 
good  ?  Will  your  looms  go  on  forever  weaving  a  tale 
of  your  sorrow  ?  Will  this  too  little  money  that  maims 
the  worker,  will  this  too  much  money  that  maims  the 
boss,  go  on  forever  passing  its  coin  across  the  counters 
of  injustice  ?  Is  this  world  to  be  confirmed  as  a  world  of 
barter  and  bond  ?  Is  this  world  to  be  forever  a  world 
of  shock  ?  What  can  you  do  to  remove  the  elements 
of  disaster  ?  The  private  fortune  is  a  testimony  of  dis 
aster.  You  weave  in  your  loom  the  dreams  of  social 
order.  Chaos  enslaves  you  to  the  loom.  Order  will 
plan  your  escape.  Only  when  you  go  to  the  loom  be 
cause  you  want  to  rather  than  because  you  must  will 
that  loom  with  your  soul  render  to  society  its  untram- 
meled  due.  Have  you  returned  to  your  loom  admit 
ting  chaos  ?  The  loom  may  bring  you  wreck.  The 
loom  that  weaves  defeat.  The  loom  may  bring  you 
sunshine.  The  loom,  your  soul,  that  will  not  concede 
defeat. 

Defeat  is  nothing.  Defeat  is  not  loss.  It  is 
a  pause,  a  rest,  a  consultation,  anything,  but  it  is  not  a 
loss.  Defeat  only  becomes  loss  when  you  hand  it 
to  your  competitor  with  an  apology.  To  admit  de- 

76 


I  LOOK  DEFEAT  FULL  IN  THE  FACE 

feat  is  to  confess  shame  in  your  fight.  But  to  deny 
defeat  is  to  renew  battle.  I  concede  nothing.  Not  a 
cipher.  If  I  conceded  anything  I  would  be  recreant  to 
the  faith  by  which  I  live.  No  man,  no  power,  can  de 
feat  me.  I  can  defeat  myself.  Nothing  can  defeat 
me  but  myself.  The  master  cannot  defeat  me.  But 
the  master  can  defeat  himself.  And  every  time  the 
master  violates  the  canons  of  generosity  and  justice  he 
defeats  himself.  He  may  feed  till  he  bursts.  He  is 
still  defeated.  No  man  can  defeat  any  other  man. 
But  any  man  can  defeat  himself. 

Do  not  admit  defeat, 

brother.  Do  not  feel  discouraged.  I  saw  you  yester 
day  crawl  back  to  your  loom.  You  were  loth  to  go. 
Because  you  had  hoped  that  when  you  went  back  to 
your  loom  you  would  take  justice  with  you.  But  you 
went  back  without  justice.  Do  not  weep,  brother. 
You  went  back  without  justice.  But  you  did  not  go 
back  without  faith.  I  will  not  believe  that  you  went 
back  without  faith.  And  it  is  better  to  go  back  hun 
gry  with  faith  than  to  go  back  fatfed  without  faith.  And 
as  long  as  you  do  not  sign  your  soul  away  in  a  sur 
render  of  admitted  defeat  you  have  that  soul  left  for  fu 
ture  contingencies.  You  are  building  slow.  But  you 
are  building  right.  You  are  tired.  1  put  my  arms 
about  you.  I  cry  to  you  with  a  strong  voice.  I  cry  to 
you  with  a  heart  that  is  stronger  than  my  voice.  I  cry 
to  you  with  a  faith  that  is  equal  to  any  defeat.  Do  you 
not  feel  me  near  ?  Do  you  not  feel  my  sustaining 

77 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

touch  ?  I  know  a  tremendous  power  is  breaking  loose 
within  me.  A  power  not  my  own  that  buoys  you  up 
against  disaster  and  defeat.  A  power  yours,  mine,  mys 
terious,  overwhelming,  magnificent.  Do  you  not  feel 
it  about  you  now  in  my  strong  arms  as  I  embrace  you  ? 
Do  you  not  feel  it  now  in  my  lips  as  I  kiss  you  ? 

OF  ONE  PROFIT  Everybody  belongs  to  something. 
AND  LOSS  Nobody  is  a  loose  thread.  No 

body  can  repeal  the  universe.  You  belong  to  every 
man.  Every  man  belongs  to  you.  You  belong  to  his 
tory.  History  belongs  to  you.  Do  you  dare  come  to 
me  boasting  of  your  individual  rights  ?  Have  you  any 
right  that  belongs  to  you  alone  ?  Has  anybody  else 
any  individual  right  which  he  may  use  against  your 
welfare  ?  The  social  chain  is  continuous.  It  is  end 
less.  Or  it  is  melted  again  to  gas.  No  man  can  es 
cape  the  universe.  The  universe  can  escape  no  man. 
If  I  could  anywhere  impeach  the  continuity  of  history, 
the  dependence  of  one  life  on  another,  the  whole  fabric 
of  society  would  fall  to  pieces.  If  you  could  in  any 
way  demonstrate  the  independence  of  a  single  atom  in 
the  physical  world,  all  the  globes  of  space  would  fall 
asunder.  They  all  hang  together.  Or  they  are  all  to 
gether  wrecked.  The  law  of  the  universe  is  not  the 
law  of  one.  It  is  the  law  of  all.  Men  belong  to 
gether.  Values  belong  together.  Labors  belong  to 
gether.  Products  belong  together.  Labor  should  not 
be  quoted  against  labor.  Value  should  not  be  rated 

78 


OF  ONE  PROFIT  AND  LOSS 

against  value.  Result  should  not  be  inverted  against 
result.  The  economic  world  belongs  to  unity.  It  be 
longs  to  harmony.  Legitimate  discord  in  any  one  of 
its  strings  and  the  perfection  of  its  melody  is  annulled. 
All  things  in  the  economic  world  belong  to  all  men. 
No  thing  in  the  economic  world  belongs  to  any  man. 
It  is  good  to  get  man  free  of  property.  It  is  better  to 
get  property  free  of  man.  Yet  you  do  not  in  either 
case  get  the  one  free  of  the  other  by  separating  one 
from  the  other.  You  get  them  free  by  confederating 
them  in  a  mysterious  autonomy.  For  the  line  from 
man  to  property  and  back  again  from  property  to  man 
must  nowhere  be  broken  or  even  mended.  It  must  be 
able  to  evocate  an  infallible  succession. 

What  is  your 

life  if  lived  alone  ?  What  is  your  hermited  income  ? 
You  use  that  word  society.  But  how  can  you  speak  of 
society  if  you  live  alone  in  a  palace  in  plenty  and  sur 
feit  while  other  men  live  in  huts  and  starve  ?  How 
can  you  speak  of  society  if  you  contrive  to  separate 
your  welfare  from  the  welfare  of  the  tramp  ?  If  you 
can  anywhere  break  the  line  that  leads  from  you  to  the 
starveling,  from  your  million  to  my  cent,  you  have  de 
stroyed  society.  There  is  only  one  enemy  of  society. 
That  enemy  is  the  man  who  would  perpetuate  society 
in  fragments.  The  heart  does  not  legislate  for  good 
and  bad,  for  inferior  and  superior.  It  legislates  for 
man.  It  does  not  legislate  for  exceptions.  It  legis 
lates  for  the  rule.  The  heart  knows  no  exceptions. 

79 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

The  heart  sees  to  the  edge  of  every  crowd.  It  con 
siders  the  interest  of  the  last  man  as  well  as  of  the  first. 
You  dare  to  say  society  and  starve  any  of  its  children  ? 
You  dare  to  say  society  while  you  see  so  many  over 
shadowed  faces  in  the  world  ?  What  does  society  mean 
to  you  ?  Your  profit?  No  individual  profit  is  honest. 
Social  profit  alone  is  honest.  No  gain  can  come  to  the 
individual  alone.  Gain  can  only  come  to  the  social 
whole.  Gain  for  one  is  defeat  even  for  that  one.  Gain 
for  all  is  the  only  victory.  You  ask  me  to  sympathize 
with  you  when  your  stocks  have  gone  down.  Or  when 
your  mill  yields  you  less  profit.  Or  when  your  store 
is  empty.  Or  when  no  editor  will  buy  your  articles. 
Or  when  your  land  has  lorded  you  off  the  earth.  But 
why  should  I  sympathize  with  you  ?  I  could  not  sym 
pathize  with  you  without  sympathizing  against  others. 
That  would  be  blasphemy.  Every  personal  loss  is  so 
cial  gain.  I  want  you  to  worry  over  your  losses.  I 
will  not  worry  over  your  losses.  I  see  what  they  mean. 
You  do  not  see  what  they  mean.  When  you  do  see 
you  will  no  longer  worry.  In  the  day  when  the  person 
suffers  his  final  loss,  when  the  last  atom  of  his  property 
slips  away,  social  chaos  will  have  become  social  order, 
and  no  man  will  worry  over  the  comings  and  goings  of 
values.  You  delude  yourself.  You  think  your  good 
clothes  have  nothing  to  do  with  my  patches.  You 
think  your  rich  meal  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  poor 
grub.  You  think  your  overfat  has  nothing  to  do  with 
my  underthin.  You  think  that  heaven  has  nothing  to 


—THAT  YOU  WILL  CALL  OUT  LOUD 

do  with  hell.  You  are  wrong.  You  can  never  cut  one 
loose  from  the  other.  You  imagine  you  could  somehow 
balance  yourself  on  the  piece  of  a  globe  ?  That  you 
could  float  the  stars  in  angles  ?  You  must  not  cheat 
yourself  with  a  solar  counterfeit.  You  are  playing  in 
dustrial  experiments  against  fire.  You  are  staking  prop 
erty  against  the  law  by  which  it  has  been  evoked.  That 
is  why  you  will  fail.  You  have  tried  to  separate  the 
producer  from  the  thing  he  produces.  You  have  tried 
to  round  a  world  of  contradictions.  You  have  cut 
your  globe  in  two  and  tried  to  run  it  with  their  half 
circumferences  in  collision.  You  have  tried  to  show 
that  the  healthy  child  you  have  raised  in  your  suburban 
home  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  sickly  child  I  have 
raised  down  town  on  food  and  air  too  little  and  too 
poor  to  sustain  life.  But  I  tell  you  that  that  sick  child 
is  the  other  half  of  that  well  child.  And  that  they  have 
got  to  live  together  as  parts  of  each  other.  And  that 
neither  one  can  be  well  alone  or  sick  alone.  You  have 
got  to  make  those  two  lives  one  life.  You  have  got  to 
rescue  those  two  lives  from  contrast  and  restore  them 
to  likeness.  You  cannot  send  one  to  hell  and  the  other 
to  heaven  and  expect  either  of  them  to  be  saved. 

SWEAR  THAT  Swear!  That  is  what  I  say  to 
YOU  WILL  CALL  you.  Swear!  Do  not  say  yes 
OUT  LOUD  and  no.  Do  not  yield  here  and 

concede  there.  Do  not  admit  that  your  case  is  both 
true  and  false.  Insist  upon  your  case.  Grant  its  faults. 

81 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

Still  insist  upon  it.  The  faulty  need  not  be  false.  Do 
not  apologize  for  your  failures.  Do  not  suffer  shame 
for  your  mistakes.  Do  not  worry  over  your  bad  judg 
ment.  Desert  anything  else.  Stick  to  yourself.  Swear 
that  you  will  stick  to  yourself.  Swear !  You  have  ene 
mies  wherever  you  look.  You  are  tempted.  You  are 
paid  to  conform.  The  conventional  world  offers  you 
the  bribe  of  its  velvet.  The  world  offers  you  ease  and 
place.  Do  you  want  ease  and  place  ?  Or  do  you  want 
yourself?  Swear  that  you  want  yourself.  That  you 
want  your  idea.  That  ease  and  comfort  are  all  very 
well.  But  that  something  else  not  so  easy  and  com 
fortable  is  better. 

Swear!  Do  not  tell  yourself  that 
you  are  just  the  same  man  going  foul  as  going  fair. 
Do  not  burden  yourself  with  the  consciences  of  others. 
Take  care  of  your  own  conscience.  Of  course  this  is  a 
hard  task.  It  is  the  very  hardest  task  there  is.  Just 
to  stick  to  your  idea.  To  stick  to  it  through  the  muck 
and  slander  of  every  day.  To  stick  to  it  after  every 
body  has  gone  to  bed.  To  stick  to  it  before  anybody 
is  up  in  the  morning.  It  is  a  hard  job.  It  is  hard 
work  for  a  man  to  dig  down  to  his  own  root.  There  is 
no  other  way  of  getting  there.  And  to  get  there  is 
life.  Or  to  try  to  get  there.  But  to  make  no  effort  to 
get  there  is  death.  Swear !  Swear  that  you  will  get 
into  good  terms  with  yourself.  Swear  that  whatever 
may  occur  to  alienate  you  from  your  fellows  that  noth 
ing  can  occur  to  alienate  you  from  yourself.  Swear 

82 


—THAT  YOU  WILL  CALL  OUT  LOUD 

that  you  will  not  subject  your  unlettered  ideals  to  the 
thirty-nine  articles  of  an  effete  social  creed.  Swear  that 
nothing  will  persuade  you  to  ignore  the  pale  faces  of 
the  men  and  women  and  children  of  overwork.  Swear 
that  you  will  call  out  loud  for  justice.  Not  a  piece 
of  justice.  Not  justice  to-day  and  anything  that  hap 
pens  to-morrow.  Not  the  justice  of  any  other  man. 
But  the  justice  of  your  own  best  dream.  Swear !  Swear ! 
Swear ! 

I  am  tired  of  halfways.  I  am  tired  of  jobs  left 
undone.  I  am  tired  of  apologists.  I  am  tired  of  sym 
pathizers.  I  am  tired  of  diplomacy.  I  have  tried  all. 
All  have  failed.  I  have  gone  to  bed  sick  at  heart  with 
all  their  failures.  I  have  got  up  next  day  with  the  same 
sick  heart.  Now  I  swear  that  I  will  key  my  faith  to 
a  firmer  note.  I  will  not  look  right  or  left.  I  will  look, 
I  will  live,  straight  ahead.  I  swear  that  I  do  not  wish 
to  see  anything  else  until  I  have  seen  this.  I  swear 
that  all  else  is  useless  until  this  has  been  made  useful. 
I  have  dallied  with  luxuries.  I  have  postponed  my 
soul.  I  have  taken  counsel  of  riches.  I  have  given 
honors  to  position.  I  have  taken  the  boss  at  his  word. 
Now  I  swear  that  I  want  no  riches  and  none  of  the  at 
tentions  of  riches.  And  I  will  not  take  the  boss  at  his 
word.  I  will  not  take  tyranny  at  its  word.  I  will  take 
only  the  free  man  at  his  word.  Only  freedom  at  its 
word.  I  would  rather  have  a  whole-hearted  enemy 
than  a  half-hearted  friend.  I  would  rather  entertain  a 
bad  idea  with  all  my  heart  than  a  good  idea  with  half 

83 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

my  heart.  I  would  rather  that  capital  was  all  right  and 
labor  all  wrong  than  that  labor  should  compromise  with 
half  a  claim  for  the  sake  of  peace.  I  would  rather  have 
a  world  full  of  honest  tyrants  than  a  world  full  of  dis 
honest  courtiers.  I  would  rather  have  strength  than 
weakness  even  if  all  the  strength  was  in  the  other  camp. 
I  want  to  get  rid  of  all  my  weak  allies.  I  want  to  get 
rid  of  all  the  weakness  in  myself.  I  want  to  know  what 
I  can  depend  on,  in  you  and  in  myself.  I  would  rather 
have  you  but  few,  I  would  rather  have  myself  but  few, 
and  have  your  few  and  my  few  firm,  than  have  a  lot  of 
you  and  a  lot  of  myself  gone  to  pulp  in  palsying  con 
cessions. 

Swear !  Do  not  look  in  the  heavens  for  stars. 
Look  in  yourself.  Do  not  worry  looking  about  for  sig 
nals.  You  may  be  your  own  signal.  Your  poor  wages 
are  a  signal.  Your  wife  housekept  in  slavery.  Your 
children  whose  youth  is  left  to  die  at  the  doorsill  of  a 
factory.  These  may  be  your  signals.  The  children  of 
the  rejected  mass.  The  children  whose  future  is  given 
to  disease.  The  children  who  come  and  go  in  the  gut 
tered  and  alleyed  barbarism  of  the  towns.  These  may 
be  your  signals.  The  neglected  streets  of  the  city. 
The  sordid  soiled  mills.  The  too  early  in  the  morn 
ing  workman.  The  too  late  in  the  evening  workman. 
These  may  be  your  signals.  The  storms  may  come. 
Rain  in  floods.  Wind  in  tempests  fiercely  malignant. 
But  your  signals  are  undisturbed.  They  are  earthed  and 
skyed  in  your  heart.  Other  signals  go  out.  These  re- 

84 


—THAT  YOU  WILL  CALL  OUT  LOUD 

main.  Injustice  is  a  signal.  Treachery  is  a  signal. 
Every  overloaded  feast  is  a  signal.  Every  empty  table 
is  a  signal.  Every  sunrise  is  a  signal.  Every  sunset  is 
a  signal.  The  world  may  eclipse  its  own  hope.  You 
may  wanton  with  your  own  ideals.  But  as  long  as  you 
remain  sound  at  the  root  the  signals  are  safe.  The 
sacred  signals.  The  signals  that  outbible  bibles.  The 
signals  that  outchrist  christs.  Immortal  signals.  Sig 
nals  rendering  dreams  true  in  life  and  making  life  true  in 
dreams. 

Swear !  You  have  yielded  often  enough.  You 
have  believed  the  beliefs  of  others  long  enough.  I  now 
call  on  you  to  believe  your  own  beliefs.  I  now  call  on 
you  to  stake  all  on  the  premier  issue.  You  have  been 
too  easily  led  astray.  Because  little  things  have  gone 
wrong  you  have  admitted  that  the  big  thing  may  not  be 
right.  Because  the  enemy  was  capable  of  making  a 
big  noise  you  have  kept  silent.  Now  I  summon  you 
to  talk  out.  Talk  out  loud.  Talk  out  not  only  for 
those  who  may  be  willing  to  hear  but  for  those  who  do 
not  wish  to  hear.  Do  not  give  away  all  the  first  and 
last  words.  Keep  them  for  yourself.  Especially  the 
last  words.  Do  not  say  yes  because  you  may  hurt  the 
feelings  of  some  man  dead  or  some  man  unborn  if  you 
say  no.  Do  not  try  to  be  pleasant.  Try  to  be  true. 
No  one  will  ultimately  thank  you  for  your  sycophancy. 
Every  one  will  ultimately  thank  you  for  the  truth.  Let 
us  warn  the  other  side.  From  this  day  we  concede 
nothing.  From  this  day  we  will  hide,  hinder,  scatter, 

85 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

obliterate  no  chapter  of  the  tale.  Everything  shall  be 
put  down.  And  in  words  that  do  not  beg.  In  words 
that  hit  and  bite.  The  task  is  too  big  and  too  sacred 
to  be  frittered  away  in  the  overwrought  etiquette  of  the 
courts.  Let  us  fight  the  rest  of  this  fight  right  on  the 
level.  There  must  no  more  be  an  up  or  down,  a  right 
or  left.  We  will  remain  on  the  common  road.  Our 
fight  is  the  fight  for  the  common  road.  Swear ! 

WHAT  IS  ALL  What  is  all  the  noise  about?  Do 
THE  NOISE  you  think  we  make  this  big  noise 
ABOUT?  because  we  love  noise  itself?  We 

do  not  love  noise  any  better  than  you  do,  dear  masters. 
But  we  love  certain  things  which  a  noise  big  enough 
may  bring  to  pass.  That  is  why  we  make  the  noise. 
That  is  why  we  are  getting  a  big  noise  now.  Dear  mas 
ters,  you  hear  this  noise  wherever  you  go.  You  stuff 
your  ears.  You  hear  the  noise.  Your  sleep  may  be 
very  deep.  Deeper  than  the  soundings  of  seas.  But  this 
noise  is  very  loud.  It  is  louder  than  the  deepest  sleep. 
You  may  make  your  life  lusty  with  the  counter  noise 
of  trade.  But  this  other  noise  that  you  do  not  like 
outnoises  your  noise.  This  noise  is  a  noise  for  even 
the  deaf  to  hear.  We  are  sorry  for  you.  How  could 
we  help  being  sorry  for  you?  We  are  so  sorry  for 
you  that  we  are  almost  tempted  to  be  quiet.  But  we 
are  so  much  sorrier  for  ourselves  that  we  must  make  the 
noise.  Listen,  dear  masters.  What  do  you  think  of 
our  noise  ?  Does  it  grind  and  grumble  in  your  ears  ? 

86 


WHAT  IS  ALL  THE  NOISE  ABOUT? 

Does  it  lack  the  beauty  and  mellifluousness  of  harmo 
nic  numbers  ?  Does  it  cross  and  clamber  and  clatter 
and  crash  against  your  tympanums.  What  do  you 
think  of  our  noise  ?  This  noise  so  shameless.  This 
noise  so  blatant.  This  noise  so  without  sense  of  pro 
portion  and  place.  This  noise  of  the  common.  This 
noise  of  every  day.  This  noise  of  the  high  road. 

You 

do  not  like  to  be  invaded,  dear  masters.  You  sit  at 
your  table  and  this  noise  breaks  in.  You  have  your 
concerts  and  soirees.  But  the  noise  is  noisier  than  the 
music  and  the  chatter.  What  does  it  mean  ?  Is  no 
place  sacred  against  its  irreverence  ?  The  noise  is 
blasphemy.  Your  fortune  is  a  temple  and  this  noise 
breaks  in  on  it.  When  you  attempt  to  worship  this 
noise  violates  your  silence.  You  could  not  even  go 
into  your  closet  and  be  alone  with  God.  This  noise 
would  get  in  too.  This  noise  that  is  God.  You  won 
der.  Through  every  chink  and  keyhole,  through  even 
the  solids  themselves,  this  noise  imperturbably  presses 
its  decree.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  dear  masters.  I  am 
far  more  sorry  for  you  than  you  are  for  yourselves. 
Because  I  know  what  is  going  to  happen  to  you.  You 
do  not.  But  I  am  so  much  gladder  for  the  rest  than 
I  am  sorry  for  you  that  I  find  my  sorrow  for  you  some 
what  pale  and  forlorn.  So  I  go  about  intruding,  I  who 
am  the  noise  you  dread.  I  make  people  listen  who 
do  not  want  to  listen.  I  talk  louder  than  ever  to  those 
who  deaden  themselves  against  my  intervention.  I  am 

87 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

the  sort  of  noise  that  does  not  come  to  say  pleasant 
things.  I  come  to  disappoint  your  temporary  moods. 
I  am  determined  to  shake  up  those  who  are  satisfied 
with  themselves.  The  time  will  arrive  when  you  will 
know  that  silence  about  the  truth  is  not  civilization. 
You  will  know  that  a  noise  about  the  truth  is  the  best 
civilization.  I  am  making  that  noise.  I  am  not  mak 
ing  the  noise  as  ugly  as  such  a  noise  may  be.  I  am 
making  it  as  ugly  as  such  a  noise  must  be.  I  come 
into  your  church  and  interrupt  the  serene  platitudes  of 
the  sermon.  I  enter  your  editorial  rooms  and  make 
it  hard  for  you  to  dictate  your  paid  opinions.  I  inter 
lude  harshly  upon  the  ruffled  verbalisms  of  the  courts. 
You  have  supposed  I  was  many  things.  And  you 
have  invented  many  words  to  describe  me.  Yes, 
even  words  to  curse  me.  But  I  am  all  one  noise.  One 
word  would  describe  me.  I  strike  the  note  of  discon 
tent.  When  you  hear  me  you  may  know  you  are  in 
the  presence  of  rebellion. 

Dear  masters,  you  are  doing 

everything  you  know  how  to  suppress  me.  You  try 
persuasion.  You  try  threat.  You  try  the  law.  You 
try  injunction.  You  increase  your  armies  and  navies. 
You  cajole  the  courts.  But  all  these  are  subterfuges. 
These  do  not  touch  the  nerve.  So  you  find  that  our 
noise  goes  on  increasing.  You  wonder.  You  try 
charity.  You  throw  a  library  at  me.  You  come  for 
me  with  a  hospital.  You  uppercut  me  with  a  college. 
But  I  remain  unharmed.  You  discuss  this  mystifying 

88 


WHAT  IS  ALL  THE  NOISE  ABOUT? 

phenomenon.  You  ask  the  church  to  reply  to  my 
noise.  The  church  points  to  its  creed.  You  ask  the 
state  to  reply  to  my  noise.  The  state  points  to  its  po 
lice.  You  ask  society  to  reply  to  my  noise.  Society 
points  to  its  parlors.  But  how  can  my  noise  be  replied 
to  by  the  evil  from  which  it  is  a  revolt  ?  My  noise  can 
only  be  replied  to  in  one  way.  By  surrender.  Flat 
tery  will  not  reply.  Vituperation  will  not  reply.  Sur 
render  alone  will  reply. 

Do   you  think,  dear  masters, 

that  this  noise  is  only  a  noise  ?  The  noise  is  the  least 
part  of  me.  My  noise  alone  would  not  be  dangerous 
to  you.  It  is  the  silence  back  of  the  noise  that  is  dan 
gerous  to  you.  I  think  that  something  in  your  blood 
if  not  in  your  brain  tells  you  this.  The  symptoms 
may  disturb  you  some.  But  the  fact  will  disturb  you 
more.  I  do  not  love  a  noise  any  better  than  you  do. 
Or  a  fight.  Or  to  excite  ill  will.  Or  to  seem  to  be 
taking  any  pleasure  out  of  another's  life.  But  the  law 
of  my  noise  is  the  law  of  the  heart.  It  is  the  law  of 
the  humanities.  If  my  noise  stopped  the  popular  hope 
would  die.  If  my  noise  ceased  you  would  have  every 
thing  your  own  way.  This  would  not  be  good  for  you. 
And  it  would  be  bad  for  us.  Just  as  bad  as  it  would 
be  for  us  to  have  everything  our  own  way.  So  we  are 
noising  about  the  world  in  order  to  even  up  the  con 
trasts.  Hear  me.  Even  up.  Not  even  down.  That 
is  what  our  noise  came  for.  That  is  what  must  hap 
pen  before  our  noise  disappears.  We  do  not  intend 

89 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

to  perpetuate  the  noise.  We  are  only  to  keep  it  up  as 
long  as  it  is  necessary.  We  will  gladly  stop  the  noise 
when  the  cause  stops.  Gladly.  Gladly.  Watch  and 
see. 

Remember,  dear  masters,  that  you  cannot  crucify 
this  noise  on  any  cross.  This  noise  has  come  into  the 
world  to  save  your  souls.  It  may  sleep.  But  it  will 
not  die.  You  may  think  it  gone.  But  it  will  always 
return  to  worry  you.  Tyranny  hates  this  noise.  This 
noise  is  the  one  thing  which  makes  it  impossible  for  in 
justice  to  granary  the  harvest  of  its  perfidies.  This 
noise,  dear  masters,  is  going  to  save  you  in  spite  of 
yourselves.  It  is  not  going  to  save  you  because  you 
alone  would  be  worth  saving.  Or  because  anyone  alone 
would  be  worth  saving.  But  because  the  race  is  worth 
saving.  And  this  noise  will  save  the  race.  You  will 
find  that  no  one  man  is  secure  until  all  are  secure 
with  him.  For  money  will  not  make  you  secure.  Only 
justice  will  make  you  secure.  And  this  noise  that  to 
day  so  puzzles  and  often  so  enrages  you  is  justice. 
And  justice  will  save  your  soul. 

I    bring   you   a   great 

noise,  dear  masters.  You  point  your  telescopes  to 
heaven.  But  no  telescope  could  divulge  to  you  the  se 
cret  of  my  noise.  Do  not  expect  me  to  be  kind  to 
you.  I  am  neither  kind  nor  harsh.  I  am  only  just. 
I  am  not  the  noise  of  revenge.  I  am  the  noise  of  reci 
procity.  I  am  neither  for  any  one  side  nor  for  any 
other  side.  I  am  for  all.  My  noise  is  not  a  noise 

90 


WHAT  IS  ALL  THE  NOISE  ABOUT? 

calling  anybody  to  repentance.  It  is  a  noise  reminding 
everybody  of  salvation.  My  noise  is  the  one  way  of 
salvation.  I  am  the  voice  and  matter  of  the  commune. 
I  am  the  cry  and  silence  of  the  universal  life.  You 
build  cities  in  vain  if  you  do  not  build  them  for  me. 
I  am  the  clamor  of  the  underman.  How  can  you  build 
your  overman  if  not  on  me  ?  I  am  the  rebel  famine  is 
suing  its  bulletin  of  warning.  I  am  labor  grown  to  a 
consciousness  of  its  splendor.  In  my  noise  you  find 
labor  at  last  honoring  itself.  Labor  has  too  long  taken 
itself  at  your  estimate.  Now  labor  is  lifted  to  the  realm 
of  an  adequate  self-respect.  That,  dear  masters,  is  what 
my  noise  means.  That  is  what  my  noise  means,  no 
matter  in  what  form  or  phrase  it  comes.  Do  not  mis 
take  me.  That  noise  is  a  symptom  and  symbol  of  res 
urrection. 


I  have  trailed  myself  laboriously  in  all 
the  ages  through  the  phrases  of 
the  parleyers  with  words, 

But  I  have  found  that  words  are  only 
loyal  when  they  report  back  to 
life  again  and  ask  for  orders  : 

And  I  who  am  love  am  the  only  life, 

And  therefore  words  must  report  back 
to  me  forever  for  their  consequent 
realities. 


91 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 


Man  is  reckless  of  man  : 

The  man  is  wasted  in  the  child, 

The  child  is  wasted  in  the  man. 

I  do  not  revolt  at  your  waste  of  goods, 

I  revolt  at  your  waste  of  men  : 

You  might  waste  all  the  goods  of  the 

earth  if  you  would  but  save  your 

men — 
The  best  of  your  goods  are  infinitely 

useless, 
The  worst  of  your  men  are  infinitely 

precious. 
You  call  upon  me  to  honor  the  work 

of  your  men : 
I  call  upon  you  to  first  of  all  honor 

your  men. 
I  acquiesce  in  your  biggest  claims, 

and  then  make  a  claim  haughtier 

than  all  the  rest — 
The   claim   of  the  wasted  man  for 

restoration. 


AND  THE  HEART  OF  THE 
MATTER  IS  HEART 


You  have  passed  in  all  the  collaterals  of  love  but  where  is  love  ? 

You  have  brought  me  love's  dresses  and  love's  habits  and  love's  alphabets 

but  have  not  brought  me  love, 

You  make  wars  and  bring  me  wars  and  call  wars  love, 
You  rob  men  of  their  hope  and  serve  up  their  hope  at  your  table  to  blind 

guests  and  call  your  robbery  love, 
You  cut  loose  into  classes  and  prey  one  class  on  another  and  call  your 

preyscathe  love : 

But  love  brought  to  love  in  ways  so  profane  scars  the  intent  of  worship : 
So  I  who  am  love  will  not  receive  love  so  tributed  with  crime : 
Love  so  seamed  and  sored  will  not  pay  love's  debt. 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

AND  THE  And  the  heart  of  the  matter  is  heart. 

HEART  OF  Every  other  thing  in  the  world  must  be 
THE  MA  TTER  put  aside  until  the  question  of  social  jus- 
IS  HEART  tice  is  answered.  The  things  that  you 

go  to  church  to  hear  about  must  be  put  aside.  The  things 
that  the  schools  teach  must  be  put  aside.  The  things  that  the 
painters  paint.  That  the  poets  sing.  That  the  philosophers 
and  metaphysicians  dabble  with.  All  must  be  put  aside 
until  the  question  of  social  justice  is  answered.  The  church 
stands  with  its  lips  shut  and  its  tongue  in  its  cheek.  The 
poets  rhyme.  They  do  not  sing.  The  orators  substitute 
gesture  for  faith.  Governments  make  for  law  at  the  expense 
of  life.  All  the  institutions  have  become  supreme  artificers 
in  deceit.  The  colleges  are  awed  into  treachery  by  their  en 
dowments.  Nothing  is  left  but  your  voice.  But  my  voice. 
The  voice  of  the  unlisted  and  the  non-elect.  Will  you  speak  ? 
Will  I  speak  ?  The  question  must  be  answered.  Must  be 
first  answered.  For  until  it  is  usefully  answered  every  other 
thing  will  be  useless.  Unless  it  is  answered  and  answered 
with  the  one  answer  of  righteousness  any  other  question  will 
finally  become  unanswerable.  No  array  of  languishing 
beauty.  No  flamboyant  exhibit  of  art.  No  hideous  phal 
anx  of  smoky  machinery.  No  crowding  of  the  palaces  and 
rookeries  of  cities.  No  gathering  of  the  lackeys  and  lacquers 
of  fashion.  No  appeal  from  the  masses  poor  to  the  classes 
rich.  Nothing.  Nothing.  Will  avail  as  long  as  the 
primary  question  remains  unanswered.  For  the  foundations 
of  your  buildings  are  not  set  upon  rock.  They  are  set  upon 
justice.  Else  there  are  no  foundations.  And  the  founda- 

94 


—HEART  OF  THE  MATTER  IS  HEART 

tions  of  art  are  not  in  skill  or  beauty  or  any  superficial  trick 
ery  or  fantastic  sleight  of  hand.  They  are  in  justice.  Else 
there  are  no  foundations.  I  am  tired  of  hearing  the  noise 
that  civilization  makes  about  itself.  1  want  to  test  it  a  lit 
tle  by  the  silences.  By  things  that  are  not  said.  By  claims 
that  are  not  made.  I  can  easily  see  the  froth  and  fustian. 
The  false  luster  of  counterfeit  titles.  But  I  am  looking  for 
something  more  like  love  and  life  than  appears  in  the  ruffian 
parade  of  its  virtues.  I  am  a  crier  up  mysterious  sound- 
ways.  I  am  a  searcher  in  the  social  beyond.  I  am  a  dig 
ger.  I  tear  up  dead  roots.  I  plant  the  seed  grains  of  a 
more  gracious  providence.  Dig  deep  cuts  into  all  your  proud 
properties.  Dig.  Eternally  dig.  I  am  mad  for  the 
substance  of  justice.  I  count  upon  nothing  unless  I  can  count 
upon  justice.  I  reject  everything  short  of  justice.  Justice 
belongs  or  nothing  belongs.  The  matter  has  but  one  signifi 
cance.  And  this  is  the  heart  of  it.  Justice  is  the  heart  of 
it. 

The  question  whether  you  can  make  a  living  must  be  put 
aside  for  the  question  whether  all  men  can  make  a  living. 
You  have  no  right  to  put  yourself  first.  You  must  put  your 
self  last.  You  must  wait  until  all  others  are  served.  Then 
you  may  be  served.  Society  is  always  calling  next.  But 
there  is  no  next.  There  is  no  first  man.  There  are  no  pre 
ferences.  Society  provides  for  all.  How  is  it  that  all  do 
not  have  enough  ?  Because  you  or  you  or  you  insist  upon 
coming  first.  You  attract  to  yourself  the  superior  gifts. 
You  leave  every  other  man  to  take  his  chances  with  what  is 
left.  You  seize.  Keep.  You  use  social  increment  for  your 

95 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

own  merely  personal  advancement.  Yet  you  ought  to  know 
that  the  world  is  dead  in  you  until  it  lives  in  your  life  lived 
for  others.  This  is  the  first  life  out  of  the  many  lives  that 
you  must  live.  The  life  that  takes  others  into  acoount.  Yes. 
The  life  that  forgets  no  one  and  remembers  no  one.  The  life 
that  simply  loves.  The  life  that  refuses  to  collect  its  rent. 
That  refuses  to  assess  and  absorb  the  labor  of  men.  Listen, 
brothers.  That  is  the  heart  of  my  contention.  If  you  hear 
me  cry  you  will  know  that  is  my  cry.  No  matter  what  my 
words  are  that  is  my  cry.  Early  and  late  that  is  my  cry. 
My  cry  fits  into  every  language.  It  is  in  whatever  lan 
guage  every  hour  of  every  day.  That  is  the  whole  story, 
dear  brother.  The  heart  of  the  matter  is  heart.  A II  reports 
must  be  made  to  the  heart.  You  are  not  to  report  to  your 
trade  or  profession.  You  are  to  report  to  the  heart.  Be  a 
clumsy  artist  if  you  must.  But  be  a  man.  Any  kind  of  a 
mere  man  is  worth  more  than  any  kind  of  a  mere  artist. 

if 

you  see  anything  wrong  on  the  earth  you  must  square  your- 
self  with  that  wrong.  Every  transgression  you  see  is  your 
transgression.  You  must  square  yourself  with  it.  You 
have  charged  up  a  big  account.  Now  you  must  commence 
to  pay.  You  have  postponed  payment  long  enough.  You 
must  pay  every  cent.  You  must  keep  on  paying  until  the 
entire  amount  is  squared.  Though  you  must  give  up  every 
thing  you  have  to  do  it,  it  must  still  be  done.  What  becomes 
of  the  substance  of  property  when  property  tries  to  get  along 
without  justice  ?  There  is  no  inalienable  property  but  jus 
tice.  Property  is  of  no  use  in  the  wrong  place.  All  prop- 

96 


—HEART  OF  THE  MATTER  IS  HEART 

erty  not  swathed  in  justice  is  in  the  wrong  place.  You  act 
as  if  we  were  thousands  of  men  living  in  thousands  of  worlds. 
We  are  less  and  more.  We  are  one  man  living  in  one  world. 
All  life  that  is  worth  life  is  contingent  upon  the  affections. 
Yet  commerce  is  nine  tenths  fight  and  hardly  one  tenth  love. 
How  will  you  square  yourself  with  the  affections  ?  Private 
property  is  against  love.  Square  yourself  with  love.  Love 
is  under  ban.  The  land  lord  threatens  love.  The  money 
lord  threatens  love.  The  profit  lord  threatens  love.  Wages 
threaten  love.  How  can  love  escape?  Square  yourself 
with  love. 

I  repeat  myself?  So  I  do.  But  the  evil,  too, 
repeats  itself.  As  long  as  the  evil  repeats  itself  I  will  repeat 
myself.  Let  evil  go  where  it  may  I  will  follow  it.  I  will 
make  evil  uncomfortable  to  evil.  I  will  harry  it  until  it 
can  stand  my  whip  no  longer.  I  will  not  use  the  weapon 
of  evil  against  evil.  I  will  use  the  weapon  of  good.  But 
the  'weapon  of  good  is  not  the  easiest  to  bear.  It  is  the  hard 
est  to  bear.  I  concede  nothing.  Let  defeat  concede.  Are 
you  too  timid  to  assert  your  whole  case  ?  I  will  assert  it  for 
you.  I  contend  for  my  whole  case.  Not  half  my  heart. 
All  my  heart.  It  is  the  case  of  the  heart.  I  say  it  over 
and  over  again.  The  heart.  The  heart.  The  inexorable 
claims  of  the  heart.  The  world  belongs  to  the  heart.  The 
heart  of  the  matter  is  the  heart.  Nothing  else.  After  the 
economists  have  talked  and  talked  the  truth.  After  the  fig 
ures  are  all  in  and  are  honestly  counted.  After  the  last  ar 
gument  is  heard  and  conceded.  After  the  debate  is  over  and 
the  debaters  are  gone.  After  all  the  evident  sayings  are  said 

9f 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

and  confirmed  in  'visible  letter.  Then  the  heart  comes  along. 
And  the  heart  puts  in  the  last  word.  Yes,  the  last  fact. 
The  humble  heart  disposes  of  the  arrogant  institutions.  Yes, 
you  proud  institutions.  The  heart  has  decided  against  you. 
The  heart  has  decided  against  all  your  babeled  structures. 
The  heart  takes  everything  into  account.  And  the  heart 
crowns  the  vexed  issues  with  peace.  I  know  what  you  say. 
You  say  reason.  But  I  say  heart.  The  reason  can  travel 
as  far  as  its  feet  can  go.  But  feet  can  only  go  so  far.  But 
who  can  set  a  bound  for  the  heart  ?  When  you  collect  your 
commercial  margins  you  set  a  bound  to  the  heart.  When 
you  pay  wages  or  accept  wages  you  set  a  bound  to  the  heart. 
But  the  heart  passes  out  into  spaces  articulate  with  revela 
tion.  Into  that  sphere  in  whose  invisible  corridors  piracy 
must  lower  its  last  standard.  And  the  heart  of  the  matter 
is  heart. 

FOR  ALL  An  Englishman  wrote  a  novel  in  which 

THE  WORLD  he  prophesied  an  alliance  of  the  "stars 
and  stripes  and  union  jack  against  all  the  world."  It  is 
characteristic  of  the  old  regime  to  be  against  the  world. 
It  is  always  dreaming  of  conquests,  disputes,  severances. 
It  is  always  seeing  men  in  small  corners.  Men  hiding. 
Men  in  fear.  Races.  Sharp  boundary  lines.  One 
nation  sworn  against  another.  It  is  always  seeing  man 
kind  in  parts  rather  than  in  wholes.  It  is  not  inclusive. 
It  is  exclusive.  Against  the  world. 

The  new  regime  is 
not  against  the  world.     It  is  for  the  world.     It  is  for 


FOR  ALL  THE  WORLD 

the  whole  world.  It  knows  no  world  with  anything  left 
out.  War  is  not  the  world.  Wages  are  not  the  world. 
Slavery  is  not  the  world.  The  stars  and  stripes  are  not 
the  world.  Nor  is  the  union  jack.  Nor  are  stars  and 
stripes  and  jacks  together  the  world.  Love  alone  is  the 
world.  The  absorption  of  the  welfare  of  the  individual 
in  the  welfare  of  the  mass  is  the  world.  The  world  can 
never  be  anything  little.  It  must  be  something  big. 
Your  parish  politics  are  not  the  world.  Nor  is  the 
President  with  his  cabinet.  Nor  is  any  king  with  any 
premier.  The  world  is  too  big  to  be  juried  by  a  coun 
try  court.  And  too  big  to  be  sequestered  between  the 
leaves  of  a  catechism.  And  too  big  to  be  arrogated  into 
an  Anglo-Saxon  plaything.  What  would  you  do  with 
the  world  after  you  had  choked  it  into  your  province  ? 
The  world  cries  to  you  for  help.  Then  you  go  and  rob 
the  world  of  itself. 

Against  the  world.  The  world  is  not 
against  you.  Why  are  you  against  the  world  ?  What 
has  the  world  done  to  you  that  you  should  be  against 
it?  What  has  religion  taught  you?  What  has  the  state 
said  to  you  on  the  subject?  What  does  trade  say? 
Why  are  you  always  against  something?  Who  has 
taught  you  the  sort  of  economics  which  says  it  is  cheap 
to  be  against  the  world  ?  Who  has  convinced  you  that 
you  can  afford  to  be  against  the  world  ?  What  sort  of 
humanity  is  it  you  have  to  talk  about?  Is  that  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  with  your  stars  and  stripes  ?  With 
your  union  jack  ?  Poor  stars  and  stripes.  Poor  jack. 

99 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

You  might  have  given  them  a  meaning  that  is  good. 
But  you  have  preferred  to  give  them  a  meaning  that  is 
evil.  You  might  have  made  them  in  favor  of  the  world. 
You  have  made  them  against  the  world.  You  might 
have  squared  them  with  the  new  economics.  With  the 
economics  which  have  declared  for  the  eternal  peace  of 
the  communal  equities.  With  the  economics  which  do 
not  cease  at  the  shores  of  seas.  With  the  opened  doors. 
With  the  unshuttered  windows.  With  everything  that 
will  tend  to  bring  men  together.  But  you  have  given 
out  pirate  bids.  You  have  closed  the  seas.  You  have 
narrowed  life  to  border  lines.  You  have  made  it  im 
possible  for  men  to  know  each  other.  Just  as  we  are 
about  to  get  acquainted  you  slam  the  door  shut  in  my 
face.  You  do  not  offer  treaty.  You  offer  war.  You 
do  not  offer  to  smooth  away  difficulties.  You  create 
new  difficulties.  I  hear  the  tramp  of  your  armies. 
I  see  the  ships  of  war  on  your  seas.  I  read  your  tariff 
schedules.  I  know  what  you  think  and  what  you  say 
about  saved  races  and  damned  races.  Your  race  is 
superior  and  some  other  race  is  inferior.  Your  million 
aires  are  superior  and  the  men  who  make  your  million 
aires  possible  are  inferior.  You  are  against  the  loyalties 
of  the  communal  faith.  You  are  sworn  to  private  alle 
giance.  To  subserve  the  interests  of  a  fragment  instead 
of  the  interests  of  the  total.  You  jostle  the  earth  into 
your  back  yard.  You  exile  the  big.  You  cosset  the 
little.  That  is  what  you  have  done  with  your  stars  and 
stripes.  With  your  union  jack.  You  have  soiled  their 

100 


FOR  ALI;  THE  \>rO 


beauty.  You  have  covered  their  general  meaning  with 
your  local  mud.  The  world  might  have  expected  your 
better  self.  You  give  it  your  worst  self.  Not  your 
trusted  hand.  Your  knotted  fist.  The  world  that  you 
might  have  been  for.  The  world  that  you  have  pre 
ferred  to  be  against. 

When  will  we  ever  get  a  world  in 
which  the  world  will  not  be  against  itself?  When 
will  we  get  a  world  in  which  no  man  will  pull  against 
any  other  man  ?  When  will  we  get  a  world  in  which 
we  will  all  pull  together  ?  In  which  property  will  not 
pull  against  man  but  in  which  property  and  man  will 
pull  together?  In  which  the  economic  verities  will 
possess  themselves  of  the  heart  ?  In  which  state  lines 
will  disappear  in  favor  of  universal  lines  ?  In  which 
there  will  be  but  one  blasphemy?  The  blasphemy  of 
the  man  who  is  against  the  world  ?  What  is  the  use  of 
talking?  Anything  short  of  this  is  so  much  short  of 
civilization.  You  are  against  the  world.  So  is  Rocke 
feller.  Rather,  so  is  the  system  which  has  produced 
him.  We  are  going  to  destroy  that  negation.  We  say 
that  the  time  has  come  in  which  you  have  got  to  array 
yourself  on  the  side  of  interracial  good  will.  You  can 
no  longer  cultivate  your  field  with  the  tools  of  the  gen 
eral  chest.  You  can  no  longer  steal  your  fire  from  the 
general  flame.  You  must  see  that  everything  belongs 
to  all  and  that  nothing  belongs  to  anybody.  You  must 
see  that  against  is  robbery  and  that  for  is  benefaction. 
You  must  see  that  against  is  murder  and  that  for  is 

101 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

rescue.  You  point  us  out  with  scorn.  You  sneer  at  our 
radical  propaganda.  Well.  Let  me  tell  you  something 
about  that.  You  have  tried  to  make  clear  what  you  will 
do  and  what  you  will  not  do.  Let  me  tell  you  what  we 
propose  to  do.  We  may  be  cranks  and  fanatics.  But 
when  we  are  in  control  of  this  world  it  will  be  a  world 
of  peace.  Not  the  sort  of  peace  that  you  speak  of  now. 
Not  the  sort  of  peace  that  consists  with  robbery  and  is 
not  peace.  Not  the  sort  of  peace  that  condones  masters 
treating  with  slaves.  Not  the  sort  of  peace  that  exists 
by  the  leave  of  bosses.  Not  the  sort  of  peace  that 
aureoles  the  wage  system.  Not  the  sort  of  peace  in  the 
hearing  of  whose  bluster  many  men  cannot  find  work 
to  do,  and  other  men  who  work  are  underpaid,  and 
women  and  children  must  miserably  piece  out  a  mill 
requiem  of  death.  My  God,  no!  When  we  come  to 
the  world  offering  it  gifts  it  will  not  be  gifts  of  disaster. 
Our  peace  will  make  government  of  no  consequence 
and  man  of  every  consequence.  Will  force  private 
property  to  the  wall.  Will  refuse  to  put  one  man  over 
another.  Will  rebel  against  the  slavery  of  the  tool. 
Will  not  be  afraid  of  night  lest  men  steal  and  of  day 
lest  men  starve.  Will  not  house  people  here  in  palaces 
and  there  in  holes.  Will  not  give  the  man  who  does 
not  work  everything  and  the  man  who  does  work  no 
thing.  Will  get  and  keep  the  idlers  busy  and  will 
reduce  the  hours  of  the  industrious.  Will  use  the  state 
for  universal  man  or  abolish  it  altogether.  That  is  what 
our  peace  will  do.  It  will  not  sneak  round  corners 

102 


WHEN  I  SEE  HOW  SLOW  YOU  ARE 

upon  weak  nations  or  weak  men  and  reduce  them  to 
captivity.  It  will  enter  into  no  alliance  against  anybody. 
It  has  learned  its  lesson  well.  It  is  a  lesson  of  un 
bounded  comity.  It  has  no  reservations.  None  of 
race.  For  it  says  all  races  are  one  race.  None  of  pro 
perty.  For  it  says  that  all  property  is  one  property. 
None  of  ownership.  For  it  says  that  the  best  owner 
ship  is  no  ownership  at  all.  None  of  freedom.  For  it 
says  that  freedom  is  freedom  only  when  all  are  free. 
None  of  bargain  and  sale.  For  it  says  that  a  system 
which  entertains  a  thing  sold  entertains  a  soul  sold  and 
therefore  stands  annulled.  Why  should  our  peace  have 
reservations  ?  We  want  to  get  rid  of  all  the  old  bars. 
We  know  that  this  task  to  be  done  right  must  be  done 
without  equivocation.  And  it  can  never  be  done  with 
out  equivocation  while  any  state  or  any  race  or  any  in 
terest  within  or  without  is  against  any  other  state  or  race 
or  interest.  For  the  interests  of  men  when  men  live  in 
chaos  claw  and  destroy  each  other.  But  the  interests 
of  men  when  men  live  in  order  coalesce  in  one  effect. 
For  all  the  world. 

WHEN  I  SEE  When  I  see  how  slow  you  are  to  take 
HOW  SLOW  care  of  yourself  I  wonder  why  I  look 
YO U  ARE  to  you  for  results.  And  then  I  think 

the  matter  over  a  little  more  seriously  with  myself. 
And  then  I  see  that  I  do  not  really  look  to  you  for  re 
sults.  I  look  to  myself  for  results.  I  am  to  leave  you 
to  look  to  yourself.  I  am  to  look  to  myself.  That 

103 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

will  keep  us  both  busy.  That  will  keep  us  both  hope 
ful.  Do  I  look  to  votes  for  results  ?  Or  to  an  elo 
quent  sermon  ?  Or  to  a  prophet  ?  Or  to  an  economic 
soothsayer?  If  I  looked  outward  for  results  I  would 
get  discouraged.  I  would  say:  It's  no  use.  I  would 
fritter  away  my  faith.  But  when  I  look  inside  I  am 
always  serene.  1  see  my  faith  there  intact  holding  its 
own.  Whatever  the  moods,  whatever  the  losses  and 
gains  of  personal  prestige,  my  faith  remains,  unshad 
owed,  unshaken,  unashamed.  So  I  have  got  into  the 
habit  of  appealing  from  your  neglect  to  my  own  abound 
ing  belief.  I  see  that  it  is  not  my  business  to  count 
how  slow  you  are  to  take  care  of  yourself.  It  is  my 
business  to  count  how  quick  I  am  to  take  care  of 
myself. 

Election  returns  come  in  and  come  in  wrong. 
Allies  desert  you.  Editors  lie.  Politicians  slander. 
The  heelers  count  you  off  the  ticket.  You  do  not  get 
into  Congress.  You  are  thrown  out  of  a  pulpit.  You 
are  not  invited  into  parlors.  The  word  of  your  lips, 
the  thought  of  your  brain,  is  never  popularly  welcome. 
Friends  turn  away  from  you.  You  see  business  going. 
You  are  laid  off  your  job.  Money  is  scarce  and  gets 
scarcer.  Your  clothes  are  shabby.  You  do  not  always 
have  enough  to  eat.  Luxury  is  prohibited.  Your 
health  is  impaired.  And  so  on.  What  is  it  all  for? 
You  live  in  an  atmosphere  of  defeat.  Your  creature 
life  is  a  wreck.  You  save  nothing  from  the  ruins. 
Nothing  ?  Well,  nothing  but  yourself.  Nothing  but 

104 


WHEN  I  SEE  HOW  SLOW  YOU  ARE 

your  faith.  Perhaps  not  even  your  faith.  For  often 
a  man's  faith  goes  with  the  rest  of  things.  Life  is  a 
failure.  The  battle  is  lost.  Was  it  worth  while  ?  You 
dreamed  great  dreams.  But  meanwhile  life  narrowed. 
Little  by  little  your  earthplan  was  pared.  Does  it  all 
pay  ?  Is  life  on  such  a  plan  worth  what  it  costs  ?  These 
are  the  results.  A  long  row  of  ciphers.  The  roof  sold 
over  your  head.  The  soles  worn  under  your  feet.  The 
heart  broken  between  your  ribs.  Was  it  worth  the 
price  ?  Was  it  ?  Do  not  answer  in  your  wrath.  But 
answer.  Was  it  worth  the  price  ? 

Was    it   worth   the 

price  ?  An  awful  question.  Addressed  not  to  your 
stomach  but  to  your  soul.  Not  to  your  purse  but  to 
your  love.  Was  it  worth  the  price  ?  That  depends. 
When  you  look  for  results  you  are  anytime  liable  to 
track  your  proud  inventory  to  a  dust  heap.  What  have 
you  got  to  do  with  results  anyhow  ?  You  have  got  to 
do  with  inspirations.  The  best,  the  only,  results,  are 
inspirations.  The  result  that  is  not  an  inspiration  is  no 
result  at  all.  You  were  looking  for  results.  For  street 
results.  For  vote  results.  For  preacher  results.  Well, 
you  got  them.  They  were  largely  against  you.  And 
will  be  for  a  long  time  to  come.  You  are  doing  for 
the  world  what  the  world  needs  but  does  not  con 
sciously  want.  Until  you  have  convinced  the  world's 
want  as  well  as  the  world's  need  you  have  got  to  be 
satisfied  to  see  all  the  assets  in  the  hands  of  the  other 
people.  You  are  driven  back  upon  yourself.  If  you 

105 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

have  not  banked  enough  in  yourself  to  stand  the 
draughts  of  many  postponements  you  will  be  unhap 
py.  But  if  you  prove  adequate  for  all  demands  you 
will  not  care  what  happens  against  you  in  the  world 
outside.  For  you  will  always  know  that  the  best 
things  are  happening  for  you  inside  yourself.  Then 
if  you  have  been  weeping  you  will  no  longer  weep.  If 
you  have  been  doubting  you  will  no  longer  doubt.  No 
ballot  box  can  outvote  you.  You  are  never  outvoted 
until  you  have  outvoted  yourself.  You  will  often  feel 
distressed.  Every  sympathetic  man  is  distressed  with 
the  social  anomalies.  But  you  will  never  despair.  You 
will  learn  where  to  look  for  results.  You  will  not  scan 
the  voting  lists.  You  will  not  expect  your  hope  to  be 
answered  in  immediate  majorities.  A  few  voices  will 
say  yes.  The  most  of  men  will  be  deaf.  They  will 
not  hear  you  at  all.  Or  they  will  hear  you  wrong.  But 
you  will  keep  saying  your  say.  And  if  you  say  your 
say  often  enough  the  world  will  hear  you  right.  That 
is  all  you  have  to  do.  Why  should  I  cut  my  throat  be 
cause  men  do  not  hear  me  ?  I  hear  myself.  That  is 
enough.  I  see  you  robbed.  I  see  that  you  love  your 
robbers.  I  am  a  meddler.  I  am  an  alarmist.  So  I 
am.  Both.  You  will  have  to  do  a  lot  of  meddling  on 
your  own  account  before  you  gain  your  proper  place 
in  the  social  order.  You  have  got  to  meddle  with  the 
bosses  and  the  masters.  You  have  got  to  meddle  with 
the  landlords.  You  have  got  to  kick  up  a  lot  of  dirt 
with  your  angry  heels.  I  hate  to  see  you  so  slow  about 

106 


WHEN  I  SEE  HOW  SLOW  YOU  ARE 

your  own  business.  I  am  often  of  a  mind  to  stir  you  up 
with  the  flame  of  a  wrathful  fire.  But  I  can  wait.  I 
will  do  all  I  can  to  rouse  you.  To  make  you  care. 
But  I  will  not  admit  any  doubt  as  to  the  general  result. 
You  could  not  be  slow  enough  to  make  me  despair. 
Even  if  you  completely  stopped  my  faith  would  keep 
on.  Hungering,  it  would  keep  on.  Thirsting,  it  would 
keep  on.  Ragged,  it  would  keep  on.  Weeping  salt 
tears,  it  would  keep  on. 

No  one  seems  to  care  so  little 

for  the  workingman  as  the  workingman  himself.  He 
is  faithful  to  his  work.  He  is  faithful  to  his  boss.  He 
is  faithful  to  the  formal  government.  He  is  faithful  to 
social  custom.  He  is  faithless  to  himself.  He  is  guilty 
of  the  crowning  disloyalty.  Disloyalty  to  himself.  He 
cares  so  much  about  God.  He  cares  so  little  about 
himself.  Do  you  suppose  God  anywhere  could  be 
pleased  to  have  you  desert  yourself  to  please  him  ? 
The  workman  lives  in  a  prison.  He  resents  this  pris 
on.  But  he  makes  no  attempt  to  escape.  He  thinks 
imprisonment  is  wrong.  But  he  does  not  think  the 
prison  is  wrong.  He  sees  his  children  starve.  But  he 
refuses  to  see  the  cause.  He  blames  himself.  He 
blames  the  boss.  But  he  goes  about  his  work  doing 
every  day  all  he  can  to  perpetuate  the  system  which  un 
does  him.  The  workman  lacks  in  self-respect.  He 
does  not  value  himself.  He  does  not  measure  himself 
by  adequate  standards.  Why  should  he  push  his  knees 
down  into  the  ground  and  apologize  for  his  existence  ? 

107 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

He  has  in  his  bones  the  substance  of  final  righteous 
ness.  He  belongs  on  the  right  hand  of  God  and  the 
left  hand  of  God.  He  belongs  where  life  pursues  its 
holiest  processes.  I  see  him  as  he  is.  He  does  not 
see  himself  as  he  is.  1  know  he  will  one  day  reckon 
upon  the  potentialities  of  his  own  sinew.  To-day  he 
seems  not  to  care.  He  seems  witless  of  his  treasure. 
He  wastes  himself  upon  the  lords  god  of  the  market. 
He  allows  himself  to  be  sunk  in  ships  at  sea.  He  al 
lows  himself  to  be  shot  to  death  in  wars.  He  allows 
himself  to  be  choked  to  death  in  mines.  And  so  forth. 
All  for  the  glory  of  money.  If  it  was  for  the  glory  of 
man  who  would  quarrel  ?  But  it  is  for  the  glory  of 
greed.  It  is  not  a  sacrifice  of  men.  It  is  a  sacrifice  of 
slaves. 

You,  the  workers  of  this  world,  will  not  always 
be  so  slow  to  care  for  yourselves.  You  will  know  what 
you  contain.  You  will  know  what  you  signify.  You 
will  then  refuse  to  slave.  You  will  be  more  than  ever 
ready  to  serve.  But  you  will  not  serve  in  another 
man's  right.  You  will  serve  in  your  own  right.  Now 
you  take  care  of  your  masters.  Then  you  will  take 
care  of  yourselves.  You  will  discover  that  you  can  best 
care  for  others  in  the  right  way  by  first  taking  care  of 
yourselves  in  the  right  way.  All  should  serve.  But 
no  one  should  slave.  Who  will  take  care  of  you  if 
you  do  not  take  care  of  yourselves  ?  How  will  you 
bestow  if  you  do  not  first  absorb  ?  I  do  not  choose 
the  hour  for  you  to  strike.  But  I  say  that  when  the 

108 


THE  AIR  IS  CLOSE 

hour  is  struck  you  will  find  my  prophecy  on  the  fron 
tier  with  its  welcome.  I  can  wait.  Wait.  When  I 
see  how  slow  you  are. 

THE  AIR  The  air  is  close.  I  cannot  breathe,  cries 
IS  CLOSE  civilization.  Throw  open  the  doors  and 
windows.  Let  the  air  in.  Civilization  is  choking  with 
injustice.  It  has  lived  too  long  in  the  atmosphere  of 
oppression.  It  has  stayed  too  long  in  the  midst  of  the 
crowding  multitudes  of  the  dispossessed.  Now  it  calls 
for  room.  For  the  open.  For  the  stars.  For  free 
dom.  Take  down  everything  that  interferes.  Take 
down  all  walls.  Take  down  incomes.  Take  down 
wages.  Take  down  all  preferments.  Take  down  your 
superior  clothes.  Take  down  your  superior  manners. 
Civilization  is  gasping  for  breath.  It  will  die.  It  will 
live.  Will  you  kill  it  ?  Or  will  you  help  to  revive  its 
sinking  powers  ?  The  cry  is  directed  to  you.  Direct 
ly  to  you.  Whoever  you  are. 

The  air  is  close.     A 

storm  is  near.  Something  is  going  to  happen.  I  do 
not  know  what.  But  something.  Civilization  lies  there 
very  ill.  Its  lungs  are  congested.  Its  brain  is  thick. 
Its  faith  wanes.  Can  it  be  kept  alive  ?  Can  it  be  re 
stored  to  its  emoluments  ?  Can  it  be  led  to  assert  the 
more  inclusive  crescendo  of  humanity?  Or  is  it  to  be 
allowed  to  die  here  half  done?  Not  only  not  com 
pleted.  Die  in  retreat.  For  lately  civilization  has  not 
meant  advance  but  retreat.  It  has  not  found  room 

109 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

ahead.  It  has  done  no  pioneering.  It  has  been  driven 
back  and  indoors.  It  has  been  confined  to  a  room. 
It  is  growing  pale  and  thin.  It  has  called  in  a  nurse. 
What  is  to  be  done  ?  Every  day  it  cries  for  room.  And 
every  night.  Its  cry  is  the  cry  of  the  future.  Its  cry  is 
the  cry  of  the  hunted.  Take  your  hounds  off.  Take 
your  millionaires  away.  Stop  the  chase.  Take  your 
trusts  away.  Take  your  estates  away.  Make  room 
for  civilization.  Have  you  supposed  that  civilization 
can  exist  where  there  is  no  room  ?  Do  you  think  that 
civilization  can  prosper  in  the  perpetuated  dark  ? 

The 

air  is  close.  Civilization  there  on  its  bed  groans  and 
writhes  for  a  chance  to  live.  What  have  you  done  ? 
You  have  driven  it  to  bay.  You  have  forced  it  back 
to  the  last  trench.  You  have  given  it  no  options  and 
refused  it  all  vista.  You  have  left  it  there  to  die. 
You  have  called  in  the  doctors.  The  false  doctors. 
They  have  all  prescribed.  They  have  administered 
drugs.  They  have  added  poison  to  poison.  But  their 
wisdom  was  not  wise.  It  has  not  brought  civilization 
off  its  sick  bed.  The  quackeries  quacked  but  would 
not  cure.  The  patient  has  not  needed  your  drugs. 
Your  Roosevelts.  Your  Sunday  schools.  Your  pal 
liating  sciences.  The  arts  of  your  polite  leisure.  It 
has  needed  only  one  thing.  Fresh  air.  Always  fresh 
air.  Why  do  you  not  give  it  fresh  air  ? 

The  air  is  close. 

I  do  not  think  civilization  can  survive  many  more  days 

HO 


THE  AIR  IS  CLOSE 

with  things  just  as  they  are.  There  must  be  some  way 
of  getting  it  free.  Some  way  of  getting  rid  of  the  ob 
structing  debris.  Some  way  of  opening  to  it  the  sources 
of  life.  Do  not  bring  your  colleges.  They  are  of  no 
use.  Do  not  bring  the  professors  and  the  doctors. 
Do  not  bring  the  editors  and  the  reviewers.  Do  not 
bring  anyone.  First  of  all  get  out  of  the  way  yourself. 
Give  civilization  a  chance.  Let  it  alone.  If  you  must 
bring  anybody  bring  the  people.  Do  not  bring  the 
castes.  Do  not  bring  the  elect.  Do  not  bring  influ 
ence  and  position.  Bring  the  outlaw.  The  wage- 
worker.  The  failures.  Bring  the  tramps.  The  un 
fashionable.  Bring  the  man  everybody  hates.  Bring 
the  cause  everybody  distrusts.  Bring  them.  But  do 
not  bring  any  preferred  person.  A  storm  is  well  brewed. 
A  storm  will  soon  break. 

The  air  is  close.      I  think 

that  is  the  reason  the  atmosphere  is  so  thick  and  civili 
zation  has  such  a  hard  time  keeping  its  breath.  And  I 
think  that  if  the  storm  does  not  break  soon  civilization 
will  have  departed  from  civilization  altogether.  For 
so  far  it  has  not  lived  near  enough  to  its  prospectus. 
It  has  kept  its  practice  too  far  aloof  from  its  promise. 
It  has  disintegrated.  It  has  permitted  its  blood  to 
get  impoverished.  Nothing  but  a  storm  can  save  it. 
Room  for  all  the  fresh  air  to  get  in.  Room  for  ideas 
to  move  about.  Room  for  love  to  find  itself.  If  the 
doctors  will  only  go  out  perhaps  the  fresh  air  will  come 
in.  Something  must  break  soon.  Walls,  fences,  roofs. 

Ill 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

Anything  that  cribs  and  confines.  Civilization  has  been 
fooled  and  drugged  nearly  to  death.  Now  let  us  see 
what  the  fresh  air  can  do.  Let  us  see  what  the  storm 
can  do. 

The  air  is  close.  You  take  great  pride  in  your 
civilization.  But  your  civilization  is  a  sickly  affair.  It 
is  like  to  die  and  you  do  not  know  it.  You  have  made 
it  a  plaything.  You  have  made  it  a  tyrant.  You  have 
resorted  to  it  as  a  source  of  crime.  You  have  made  it 
anti-social.  You  brag  of  it  as  though  it  was  something 
extra  fine.  You  travel  the  world  over  with  its  stocks 
and  bonds.  But  after  all  your  civilization  is  in  danger. 
It  is  threatened  with  dissolution.  You  have  made  it 
too  delicate  for  any  weather.  Yet  it  must  be  prepared 
to  stand  any  weather.  To  be  eager  for  any  weather, 
hard  or  easy.  You  have  got  somehow  to  get  it  up  off 
its  bed.  You  have  got  to  get  it  into  the  open  air.  You 
have  vitiated  it  with  your  injustice.  With  your  private 
fortunes.  With  your  poor  and  rich.  With  your  castes. 
With  your  universities  endowed  by  robbery.  With 
your  charities  and  your  jails.  What  will  you  do  to 
meet  the  storm  ?  What  will  you  do  to  make  the  storm 
easy  for  civilization  ?  For  the  storm  is  sure  to  come. 
You  have  built  such  obstructions  in  the  road  that  noth 
ing  but  a  fierce  blow  will  remove  them.  What  will  you 
save  from  this  tragic  crash  of  worlds  ? 

The  air  is  close. 

I  see  civilization  tossing  on  its  bed.  Fevered.  Seeing 
phantoms.  Dreaming  of  broken  promises  and  forfeited 

112 


THE  AIR  IS  CLOSE 

ideals.  Gasping,  grasping,  choking,  calling.  Sick  near 
to  death.  Delirious.  Sick  of  you.  Sick  of  me.  Sick 
of  what  we  have  falsely  done  for  it.  Sick  of  incomes. 
Sick  of  wages.  Sick  of  professors  and  priests.  Sick 
of  high  and  low.  Sick  of  seeing  the  tiny  children  go  to 
work.  Sick  of  seeing  the  hipless  and  breastless  young 
girls.  Sick  of  seeing  the  boys  tied  and  manacled  be 
fore  the  manhood  in  them  has  had  a  chance  to  root. 
Sick  of  the  strikes.  Sick  of  seeing  the  worker  de 
spised  and  the  loafer  honored.  Sick  of  official  arro 
gance.  Sick  of  humility.  Sick  of  pride.  Sick  of  the 
squabbling  governments.  Sick  of  seeing  everybody 
quarreling  with  everybody.  Sick  of  seeing  all  society 
at  war  with  all  society.  Sick.  Sick.  Do  you  think 
that  any  one  little  offense  has  done  all  this  ?  That  any 
one  little  virtue  can  cure  it  all  ?  This  sickness  is  cli 
matic.  It  is  the  sickness  of  a  world  with  itself.  It  is 
planetary.  It  cannot  be  cured  by  any  of  the  ordinary 
emergency  remedies.  It  is  a  world  trouble  and  de 
mands  a  world  solution.  Such  a  crisis  is  never  tri 
umphantly  passed  except  by  a  storm.  It  must  be 
short,  sharp  and  severe.  It  is  cursed  before  it  comes. 
It  is  fought  against  when  it  arrives.  It  is  glorified 
when  it  is  passed. 

The  air  is  close.  The  patient  is 
calling  for  rescue.  You  will  rescue  the  patient.  Once 
men  went  to  rescue  what  they  called  a  holy  sepulcher. 
You  do  not  need  to  go  anywhere  to  rescue  civilization. 
You  can  stay  just  where  you  are.  Stay  with  yourself. 

113 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

Commence  where  you  stand  taking  down  the  barriers. 
Get  the  incubus  off  the  highway.  Prepare  for  the 
storm.  But  prepare  best  for  what  is  to  be  after  the 
storm.  What  is  the  storm  ?  I  cannot  tell  you.  But 
this  I  know.  I  know  that  the  storm  is  the  act  of  jus 
tice  replacing  injustice.  Fresh  air  is  justice.  Freedom 
is  justice.  Do  you  think  that  civilization  will  ever  be 
able  to  reconcile  wages  and  freedom  ?  The  poor  and 
freedom  ?  Wages  are  not  justice.  No  man  can  be 
paid  freedom  in  wages.  And  until  men  are  paid  free 
dom  they  are  not  paid  justice.  They  might  be  paid  the 
full  amount  in  wages  and  yet  wages  would  not  be  jus 
tice.  Nothing  but  justice  can  get  civilization  off  its 
sick  bed  and  to  its  feet.  Nothing  but  justice.  Noth 
ing  but  the  great  storm.  Nothing  but  a  surmounting 
and  sustaining  communism.  The  air  is  thick  with  illu 
sion  and  fallacy.  The  storm  will  come.  Nothing  but 
justice  is  finally  just.  Are  you  afraid  ?  Do  you  propose 
to  get  under  cover  and  try  to  evade  the  issue  ?  You 
cannot  do  it.  You  have  sepulchered  the  living  body 
of  civilization.  Do  you  not  hear  its  cries  for  help  ? 
You  have  got  to  rescue  it.  You  have  got  to  give  it 
air.  Get  it  out  under  the  sky.  Give  it  a  chance  to 
breathe.  Give  it  justice  for  injustice.  Give  it  a  whole 
people  for  a  caste.  You  have  sepulchered  the  living 
body  of  civilization.  You  are  making  civilization  to 
mean  life.  The  air  is  very  close.  You  have  got  to 
drag  its  helpless  body  from  a  premature  grave.  You, 
whoever  you  are.  Especially  you  who  brag  of  civiliza- 

114 


THE  STORM  BREAKS 

tion.  I,  whoever  I  am.  Especially  I  who  am  of  great 
faith.  The  air  is  close. 

THE  STORM  The  storm  has  come.  The  air  was 
BREAKS  very  close  and  still.  The  omens 

gathered.  It  was  hard  to  breathe  in  the  atmosphere  of 
the  castes.  Men  choked  and  gasped.  Truth  choked 
and  gasped.  Justice  was  faint  and  congested.  Some 
thing  had  to  occur.  Oppression  oppressed  too  much. 
Greed  was  too  greedy.  Our  civilization  looked  about 
upon  itself  wondering  what  to  do.  The  seers  warned 
us.  The  old  regime,  they  said,  was  about  to  end. 
End  in  storm.  We  were  glad.  Or  we  were  incredu 
lous.  Or  we  were  contemptuous.  But  all  the  while 
all  of  us  were  short  of  breath.  The  clouds  closed  over 
head.  What  was  on  the  wind  ?  Civilization  cried  for 
life.  There  was  finally  one  dead  moment  of  lull  and 
terror.  Then  we  knew  that  the  issue  had  been  sternly 
drawn. 

The  storm  has  come.  The  trees  rock  to  their 
roots.  The  palaces  are  shaken.  Fortunes  go  begging 
for  owners.  Estates  are  looking  for  their  masters.  The 
proudest  king  becomes  the  humblest  subject.  Money 
has  turned  beggar.  The  most  certain  has  become  the 
most  uncertain.  You  were  sure  of  money  yesterday. 
But  to-day  money  is  not  sure  of  itself.  Riches  knock 
at  the  door  of  poverty  asking  in  vain  to  be  let  in. 
Calico  ransoms  silk.  I  see  that  in  the  storm  all  are 
equal.  All  men  are  off  the  same  piece  of  goods.  We 

115 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

hurried  away  from  each  other  yesterday.  To-day  we 
hurry  together.  Nothing  is  spared.  All  your  sacred 
properties  are  scattered.  Your  pieces  of  paper  called 
stocks  and  bonds.  Your  interests.  Your  profits. 
Your  rents.  Proudly  elected  gods  yesterday.  To-day 
dethroned.  Yesterday's  revellers  to-day's  penitents. 
The  army  outarmied  in  the  massacre  of  this  storm. 
The  navy  wrecked  up  the  rockshores  of  its  own  das 
tardly  seas.  Priests  lost  to  their  religion.  Statesmen 
damned  in  the  perversity  of  office.  God!  how  the 
wind  blows.  Did  we  reckon  up  our  civilization  in  fig 
ures  so  easily  dissipated  ?  Was  its  foundation  so  frail 
that  the  first  real  attack  takes  it  down?  We  had 
counted  so  much  upon  goods.  So  little  upon  men. 
Of  what  use  are  goods  to-day?  Men  alone  are  now  of 
use.  The  parlor  is  no  use.  The  boudoir  is  no  use. 
Greed  is  no  use.  Profit  and  loss  are  no  use.  Men 
alone  are  of  use.  Love  alone.  In  yesterday's  delusion 
we  paid  court  to  foliages  and  forgot  roots.  To-day  in 
the  fury  of  this  storm  the  roots  have  been  exposed  and 
we  know  where  our  worship  must  be  bestowed.  That 
worship  so  long  squandered  in  churches  and  kept  out 
of  life.  That  worship  so  long  lavished  upon  the  things 
made  by  man  and  denied  to  man.  That  worship 
abundantly  wasted  in  a  world  without  social  unity. 
The  storm  is  furious.  It  is  flinging  values  right  and 
left.  That  which  we  thought  eternal  is  gone.  That 
which  we  have  not  thought  much  of  has  brought  us 
strength.  The  millionaires  are  the  first  to  go.  And 

116 


THE  STORM  BREAKS 

the  rulers.  And  the  scholars  who  know  too  much  to 
know  anything.  They  go  with  the  first  onslaught. 
And  the  paupers  stay.  The  superior  people  are  not 
superior  to  this  storm.  They  are  not  even  superior  to 
their  own  inferiority.  The  fratricidal  institutions  are 
gone  up  in  smoke.  The  plain  men  and  women  re 
main.  The  everyday  nobodies  are  equal  to  the  peril. 
The  wholesome  laborer  stands  still  erect  not  shirked 
from  his  orbit.  So  the  storm  is  raging.  So  strong  is 
being  sifted  from  weak.  So  ephemeral  is  being  sifted 
from  eternal. 

The  storm  has  come.  It  is  a  clearing 
house.  The  rich  are  paying  their  debt  to  the  poor. 
Injustice  is  paying  its  balance  to  justice.  Now  only 
real  ownerships  are  recognized.  In  the  austerity  of 
this  crisis  only  justified  claims  are  allowed.  Dress 
counts  for  nothing.  Courtesy  counts  for  nothing. 
Your  city  house  and  your  country  house  count  for 
nothing.  Your  club  counts  for  nothing.  This  is  no 
palliating  court  of  appeal.  This  court  sits  until  the 
last  cent  is  paid.  Masks  are  of  no  avail.  Good  Eng 
lish  is  of  no  avail.  Manners  are  of  no  avail.  Your 
soft  skin,  your  voluptuous  body,  your  dainty  sensa 
tions,  are  of  no  avail.  This  is  a  rough  court.  It  talks 
the  language  of  the  common.  It  averages  the  vocabu 
lary  of  the  street.  It  adheres  to  no  elect  code  of 
behavior.  It  just  says  the  say  of  right.  It  just  balan 
ces  the  balance  of  equity.  It  just  talks  straight  out  the 
talk  of  command.  I  see  you  feint  as  if  to  qualify  its 

117 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

decisions.  Do  you  suppose  this  storm  is  not  to  do  its 
work  complete  ?  Do  you  suppose  it  will  stop  before 
its  work  is  entirely  done  ?  It  did  not  come  in  a  hurry. 
It  was  prepared  for  by  all  the  forces  of  oppression  and 
of  prophecy.  But  it  at  last  is  here  and  it  is  full 
of  menace.  It  came  not  by  catastrophe  but  by  law. 
It  will  prevail  until  the  purpose  of  the  law  is  subserved. 
By  law  it  will  depart.  But  it  will  not  go  until  the  last 
enemy  is  dispersed.  It  will  not  leave  the  field  with 
foes  in  the  rear.  It  is  doing  its  job  with  firm  hands. 
Without  mercy  and  without  malice.  It  is  not  benevo 
lent  at  the  expense  of  the  innocent.  It  does  not  hesi 
tate  to  enforce  its  sentences.  It  knows  that  some  one 
must  be  hurt.  You  were  not  sensitive  yesterday  when 
so  many  were  hurt  in  order  that  you  should  be  spared. 
Why  should  we  be  sensitive  to-day  because  you  are 
hurt  in  order  that  all,  including  yourself,  may  be 
spared  ?  That  is  what  the  storm  is  doing  for  you  as 
well  as  for  all.  You  do  not  now  see  how  it  is.  You 
do  not  know  what  good  the  whipping  is  going  to  do. 
You  only  feel  the  whip.  The  storm  is  here.  The 
storm  is  the  whip.  You  shrink,  sting,  suffer,  perhaps 
die.  But  the  storm  had  to  come.  You  perhaps  have 
to  die.  But  the  storm  comes  by  appointment.  It  is 
fulfilment.  And  you  who  have  worked  so  long  for 
your  own  greed  alone  were  all  the  time  without  know 
ing  it  working  for  this  storm  alone.  I  do  not  blame 
you.  But  I  am  trying  to  explain  the  storm.  The 
storm  is  as  necessary  to  you  who  have  prospered  as  to 

118 


THE  STORM  BREAKS 

those  you  have  dispossessed.  The  storm.  The  clear 
ing.  Its  fierce  syllables  appall  you.  Its  inexorable 
sinews  sharpen  the  edge  of  wrath.  But  how  could  the 
storm  do  a  clean  job  of  work  if  we  did  not  suffer? 
How  could  it  strike  a  balance  as  between  men  and  men 
if  up  and  down,  much  and  nothing,  caste  and  class, 
were  not  refashioned  sternly  in  the  measure  and  image 
of  the  eternal  verities  ?  We  have  too  long  gone  on  in 
blindness  led  by  the  blind.  The  storm  will  open  our 
eyes.  Henceforth  we  must  go  on  with  sight  led  by  the 
prophets. 

The  storm  has  come.  The  storm  is  revela 
tion.  It  is  teaching  me  to  know  myself.  To  know 
others.  To  know  how  much  I  belong  to  them  and 
they  belong  to  me.  The  storm  is  sympathy.  It  is 
knocking  the  devil  out  of  me.  But  it  is  keeping  the 
god  intact.  It  is  showing  me  how  penniless  I  am  own 
ing  everything  in  a  world  alone.  How  more  than  rich 
I  am  owning  nothing  in  a  world  of  lovers.  How  all 
my  parchment  fortune  goes  up  in  the  first  fire.  How 
all  my  proud  incomes  are  afraid.  How  all  my  pov 
erties  are  undaunted.  How  all  the  stolen  cultures 
tremble  for  their  life.  How  unlettered  wisdom  out 
lasts  the  recurrent  furies  of  assault.  It  is  taking  every 
thing  from  me  but  myself.  It  is  saying  to  me:  You 
are  yourself  enough.  It  is  showing  me  that  only  when 
I  own  myself  alone  and  nothing  else  can  other  men  own 
themselves  alone  and  nothing  else.  And  that  only  in 
a  world  in  which  this  adjustment  is  reached  is  liberty 

119 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

finally  safe.  And  that  only  with  liberty  safe  is  man 
safe.  For  man  is  liberty.  And  therefore,  that  only 
with  liberty  safe  will  the  storm  subside.  That  is  what 
the  storm  is  teaching  me  in  the  inveteracy  of  its  anger. 
For  it  is  now  plainly  to  be  seen  that  the  storm  does  not 
come  to  violate  a  law  but  to  remind  us  that  we  have 
broken  a  law.  The  law  of  human  comity.  The  law 
of  life  at  the  root.  The  law  of  social  order  at  the  root. 
The  law  of  communal  service.  We  have  gone  on 
piling  up  stone  and  steel,  making  babel  cities.  Now 
the  law  complains  of  our  neglect.  Now  the  law  asks  : 
Meanwhile  what  have  you  done  for  me  ?  We  have 
done  much  for  grandeur.  Much  for  aristocracy.  Much 
for  rulership.  Much  for  the  authority  of  the  great. 
What  have  we  done  for  humility  ?  For  democracy  ? 
For  obedience  ?  For  those  who  refuse  to  exercise  au 
thority  ?  The  law  proclaims  in  this  storm  its  resump 
tion  of  the  law.  It  does  not  make  an  indictment.  It 
does  not  reason.  It  does  not  browbeat.  It  comes  in 
the  storm.  You  may  die  running  away  or  die  staying 
here.  The  storm  will  go  on.  Forever  on.  And  still 
forever.  We  are  in  the  midst  of  its  trial  scenes.  One 
chapter  after  another  is  being  unscrolled.  We  look  for 
shelter.  We  struggle  and  rally  for  life.  The  social 
forms  have  narrowed  to  a  few  native  gestures.  All  the 
mockeries  of  fortune  and  place  are  swept  away  in  the 
fury  of  the  floods.  The  storm  means  to  strip  us  bare. 
The  storm  means  that  we  have  got  to  go  naked  into 
the  future.  That  we  have  got  to  clothe  ourselves  in 

120 


CLEAR  WEATHER  AGAIN 

the  righteousness  of  a  just  regime.  I  am  cowed  and 
sorrowful.  I  am  arrogant  and  jubilant.  I  am  harried 
in  the  wild  hour  of  the  chase.  The  storm  center  is  in 
me.  In  you.  The  tempests,  the  tides,  the  flames, 
drown  and  flood  me,  only  me.  You,  only  you.  I 
stand  in  their  midst  without  a  weapon.  I  am  cast  un 
shielded  into  the  passion  of  this  storm.  It  is  pitch 
dark.  I  careen  in  the  midst  of  shadows.  I  do  not  see 
a  way  out.  But  I  know  there  is  a  way.  And  I  know 
that  somewhere  on  the  way  out  I  will  meet  my  true 
comrade  and  that  my  true  comrade  will  not  deceive  me 
in  the  beyond. 

CLEAR  WEATH-  Clear  weather  again.  The  crisis 
ER  AGAIN  was  met.  Man  proved  equal  to 

it.  The  race  has  come  out  of  it  unscathed.  Yes,  glori 
fied.  The  race  has  shown  itself  equal  to  justice.  Many 
of  us  saw  only  failure  and  death.  Saw  only  the  storm. 
Did  not  see  beyond  the  storm.  But  the  prophets  were 
always  there.  Their  faithful  voices  could  always  be 
heard  above  the  cry  of  the  wind  and  the  crush  of  de 
struction.  We  knew  that  if  the  race  could  survive  this 
storm  it  could  survive  anything.  For  this  was  not  a 
storm  up  in  the  air.  It  was  not  a  zephyred  blow.  It 
was  not  a  flash  in  the  pan.  It  was  a  storm  at  the 
foundations.  It  was  not  a  test  of  foliages.  It  was  a 
test  applied  to  the  very  root-stock  of  social  integration. 
It  meant  that  you  could  hope  for  anything.  It  also 
meant  that  you  might  fear  for  everything.  For  it  came 

121 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

after  many  questions  as  a  final  question.  It  came  after 
questions  had  been  shirked  or  answered  wrong.  It 
came  as  the  question  that  had  to  be  answered  right. 
The  storm  of  yesterday.  The  storm  through  which 
we  have  come  to  this  beautiful  morning. 

Clear  weath 
er  again.  Now  I  know  how  much  the  storm  had  to  do 
with  clear  weather.  How  much  the  evil  had  to  do  with 
the  good.  How  much  the'  millionaire  had  to  do  with 
the  communist.  How  much  of  my  phantasmal  self  I 
abandoned  with  the  storm  yesterday.  How  much  of 
my  real  self  I  have  brought  over.  Now  I  see  what  the 
storm  was  for.  Why  I  had  to  starve.  Why  I  had  to 
be  hated.  Why  I  had  to  be  misunderstood.  Why  my 
dreams  were  so  slow  coming  true.  Why  my  friends 
deserted  me  and  why  my  enemies  became  my  friends. 
Why  the  universe  seemed  against  me.  Why  as  long 
as  I  was  for  myself  the  universe  could  not  have  been 
against  me.  Why  the  work  always  had  to  be  every 
thing  and  why  the  pay  always  had  to  be  nothing.  Why 
the  people  did  not  hear  me.  Why  it  was  enough  for 
me  to  hear  myself.  Why  religion  was  against  the 
storm.  And  why  art  was  against  the  storm.  And  why 
the  state  was  against  the  storm.  And  why  all  the  great 
and  the  powerful  everywhere  were  against  the  storm. 
The  editors.  And  the  legislators.  And  doctors  who 
doctored  the  body.  And  doctors  who  doctored  the 
soul.  And  banks  with  vast  treasures.  Why  all  these 
were  against  the  storm.  And  why  only  the  weak  were 

122 


CLEAR  WEATHER  AGAIN 

for  the  storm.  The  weak.  The  people  without  money. 
The  people  without  power.  The  people  without  office. 
The  people  in  the  alleys.  The  people.  The  children 
of  perpetual  hard  times.  Not  enough  fed.  Not  enough 
clothed.  Not  enough  housed.  Why  only  the  weak 
were  for  the  storm.  The  weak  armed  only  with  ideas. 
With  dreams.  With  suffering.  Armed  only  with 
starvation.  Why  only  the  weak  were  for  the  storm. 
Why  the  powerful  and  the  great  were  against  the  storm 
and  could  not  prevent  the  storm.  Why  the  weak 
and  the  obscure  were  for  the  storm  and  brought  the 
storm. 

Clear  weather  again.  Now  I  know  what  clear 
weather  means.  And  that  is  why  I  know  what  the 
storm  meant.  What  the  days  before  the  storm  meant. 
What  it  meant  for  people  to  be  overfed  and  underfed. 
What  the  temporary  victories  of  greed  meant.  Why 
the  greedy  were  the  first  to  suffer  from  greed.  Why  I 
sometimes  wondered  if  love  had  not  gone  back  on  love. 
That  is,  if  the  universe  had  gone  back  on  itself.  For 
the  sorrows  of  social  wrong  were  so  sharp  they  drove 
right  into  the  soul.  And  the  soul  got  to  asking  ques 
tions.  And  the  questions  of  the  soul  were  not  always 
cheerful.  But  they  kept  right  on  asking  themselves  in 
all  sorts  of  ways.  And  the  troubles  grew.  The  ques 
tions  were  more  and  thicker.  And  that  was  what  made 
the  air  so  close.  And  that  was  why  the  storm  came 
on.  And  that  was  why  this  superb  morning  has  fol 
lowed  the  storm.  This  morning  of  justice.  All  of 

123 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

which  I  did  not  know  at  the  time.  But  all  of  which 
is  now  clear  to  me.  Clear  to  me,  and  jubilant  and 
satisfying  to  me,  in  the  miracle  and  law  of  a  perfect 
result. 

Clear  weather  again.  Well,  we  have  had  sev 
eral  narrow  escapes  in  getting  here.  But  we  have 
arrived.  And  we  are  all  safe.  Dead  or  alive  we  are 
safe.  We  have  got  here  with  everything  and  nothing. 
But  we  are  safe.  We  are  in  good  health.  All  the 
property  has  been  brought  along.  But  all  the  owners 
are  lost  The  debris  has  been  left  behind.  The  mas 
ters  have  all  been  left  behind.  The  slaves  have  all  been 
left  behind.  But  all  the  men  are  here.  Every  man 
reports.  We  call  the  roll.  Nothing  we  need  is  miss 
ing.  Not  a  thing.  We  are  not  one  item  short.  Most 
of  the  things  we  were  proudest  of  are  left  behind. 
They  could  not  weather  the  capes.  But  all  the  other 
things  proved  themselves  capable  of  the  ordeal.  And 
here  we  are,  scarred  but  unhurt.  Scarred  with  the 
scars  of  love.  With  the  scars  of  faith.  Yet  un 
touched. 

Clear  weather  again.  Think  of  it.  You 
who  still  doubt  always  said  we  could  not  produce  the 
storm.  When  the  storm  came  you  said  we  could  not 
live  through  the  storm.  Now  that  we  have  lived 
through  the  storm  you  say  that  we  have  lived  for  noth 
ing  that  was  worth  living  for.  Look  about.  See  what 
you  may  see.  Ask  yourself  your  questions  over  again. 
Is  not  this  that  you  see  worth  living  for?  You  say  you 

124 


CLEAR  WEATHER  AGAIN 

do  not  want  to  live  in  a  world  of  angels.  Neither  do 
I.  I  always  feel  uncomfortable  in  the  presence  of 
angels.  But  this  is  no  world  of  angels.  This  is  a 
world  of  men.  It  is  a  world  of  men  who  are  still  frail. 
Who  are  -still  victims  of  passion.  But  it  is  a  world  in 
which  frailty  has  a  better  chance  to  be  taken  care  of 
and  to  take  care  of  itself.  It  is  a  world  in  which  passion 
has  a  better  chance  to  make  peace  with  law.  It  is  a 
world  in  which  everything  has  a  better  chance  to  live 
out  its  own  righteousness  and  live  down  its  own  vil 
lainy.  It  is  a  world  in  which  temptation  is  strong 
enough  to  strengthen  but  never  strong  enough  to 
tempt.  Do  you  think  this  an  impossible  world? 
Look  again.  You  see  the  big  things  of  the  old  world 
the  little  things  of  the  new.  You  see  property  very 
small.  You  see  man  very  big.  You  see  that  the  owner 
gets  big  as  ownership  gets  small.  You  see  that  now 
property  is  for  the  first  time  sacred.  You  used  to 
think  that  the  only  thing  that  made  property  sacred 
was  ownership.  Now  you  see  that  private  property 
was  always  profane.  Now  you  see  the  property  of  all 
that  used  to  be  the  property  of  one  become  the  prop 
erty  of  one  by  being  the  property  of  all.  Is  this  an 
impossible  world?  Is  justice  impossible  ?  In  the  old 
days  you  had  to  hold  on  to  everything  with  both  hands. 
But  for  that  nothing  was  safe.  You  were  always  a 
drowning  man.  Now  you  may  see  that  you  need  to 
hold  on  to  nothing.  Everything  is  safe.  You  must 
hold  on  to  yourself.  That  is  all.  Is  this  an  impossible 

125 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

world?  Did  you  think  that  men  could  always  live  on 
the  line  of  peril  ?  Did  you  think  that  man  was  always 
to  be  tied  to  a  life  preserver  ?  That  he  was  always  to 
live  on  in  fear  ?  Going  to  bed  not  knowing  but  that  a 
social  cataclysm  would  before  morning  destroy  him  ? 
Malevolent  social  forces  laying  for  him  in  the  dark  ? 
His  sleep  disturbed  by  dreams  of  ruin  ?  His  wake 
disturbed  by  facts  of  ruin  ?  Was  man  to  perpetuate 
this  dynasty  of  hell?  Look  about  you  once  more.  See 
what  you  may  see.  Ask  yourself  whether  this  world 
does  not  offer  you  an  improved  suffrage. 

Clear   weather 

again.  Clear  weather  has  brought  a  new  kind  of  a 
man.  Or  the  old  kind  of  a  man  living  out  a  new  kind 
of  life.  I  do  not  know  just  what  it  is.  Nor  how  it  is. 
But  I  know  it  is.  Every  man  now  sails  his  own  ship. 
No  alien  is  now  at  my  rudder.  Every  man  lives  his 
own  life.  He  lives  no  alien  life.  Now  that  the  storm 
has  cleared  away  we  find  that  everybody  has  plenty  of 
room.  We  find  that  every  man  knows  there  is  enough 
room  for  all.  That  no  man  will  now  take  more  room 
than  he  needs.  All  that  he  needs.  But  not  more.  We 
find  that  the  best  way  to  induce  men  to  live  together  is 
to  give  them  a  chance  to  live  apart.  In  the  new  world 
of  enough  room  the  human  spirit  is  learning  how  to 
live.  We  have  got  property  rights  out  of  the  way. 
We  have  kept  the  property  but  abolished  the  rights. 
The  storm  unsettled  wrong  in  order  to  settle  right. 
It  came  out  of  dark  days.  It  provoked  all  nature  to 

126 


WHEN  YOU   DECIDE  TO  HAVE  IT  DONE 

inevitable  fury.  The  elements  raged.  The  ruin  seemed 
complete.  There  was  no  visible  way  of  escape.  But 
the  prophets  still  prophesied.  And  when  the  destined 
work  was  done  the  sun  came  out  again.  We  find  in 
the  revelation  of  this  morning  that  no  mistake  was 
made.  Everything  of  real  value  has  remained.  Noth 
ing  has  been  lost  that  we  cannot  afford  to  lose.  What 
we  have  gained  is  the  one  treasure  to  which  all  other 
treasures  must  converge  or  be  worthless.  We  have 
gained  the  chance  to  live.  We  betrayed  ourselves  to 
property.  And  property  betrayed  us  to  despair.  Now 
we  have  seen  that  the  man  of  millions  with  no  chance 
to  live  was  poor.  That  the  man  without  a  cent  with  a 
chance  to  live  is  rich.  And  now  that  the  storm  has 
cleared  we  see  that  the  social  order  never  had  but  one 
task.  The  task  to  give  people  a  chance  to  live.  That 
when  it  was  treacherous  to  that  task  it  was  traitorous  to 
the  whole  of  life.  That  social  order  was  not  order  but 
chaos.  And  that  was  why  the  air  grew  close  upon 
chaos.  And  why  the  storm  came  after  the  air  got  too 
close  for  breathing.  And  why  now  that  the  weather  is 
clear  again  we  see  that  order  has  been  substituted  for 
chaos.  That  order  which  exists  in  the  universal  chance 
to  live.  Clear  weather  again. 

WHEN  YOUDE-  When  you  decide  to  have  it  done. 
CIDE  TO  HA  VE  When  you  put  your  resolution 
IT  DONE  into  unmistakable  form.  When 

you  show  that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  cross  your  will, 

127 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

Then  the  old  regime  will  pass  away.  Then  the  dreams 
will  come  true.  Then  injustice  will  apologize  and  ab 
dicate.  Then  and  not  till  then.  As  long  as  you  are 
uncertain  about  yourself.  As  long  as  you  are  not  quite 
sure  what  you  want  done.  Not  quite  sure  when  you 
want  something  done.  Not  quite  sure  whether  it 
would  not  be  safer  to  leave  things  as  they  are  than  to 
risk  a  change.  Not  quite  sure  whether  injustice  is  as 
unjust  as  you  imagined  or  whether  justice  is  as  just  as 
you  supposed.  Just  so  long  will  Colorado  be  Colo 
rado.  Just  so  long  will  Rockefeller  be  Rockefeller. 
Just  so  long  will  every  man  continue  to  be  against  every 
man  instead  of  every  man  for  every  man.  There  is  no 
alternative.  This  law  is  the  law  of  life.  The  law  of 
your  will.  To  be  changed  only  by  a  succession  you 
yourself  will  have  to  prepare  and  induct.  The  whole 
universe  of  right  waiting  patiently  upon  your  person 
al  universe  of  wrong.  Waiting.  Listening  for  your 
word  of  command.  Looking  for  orders  nowhere  else. 
Knowing  that  no  other  order  needs  to  be  obeyed. 

You, 

the  workers.  You,  the  makers.  The  builders.  You 
are  expecting  some  one  or  some  power  outside  of  your 
selves  to  provoke  economic  righteousness.  Looking 
for  miracles.  Looking  for  benefactors.  Looking  for 
the  good  man.  The  good  party.  Stop  right  where 
you  are.  Waste  no  more  eyesight.  All  that  you  look 
for  is  within  yourselves.  All  the  righteousness.  All 
miracles.  All  benefaction.  You  will  be  your  own  good 

128 


WHEN  YOU  DECIDE  TO  HAVE  IT  DONE 

men.  You  will  make  your  own  good  party.  When 
you  want  eight  hours  you  will  get  eight  hours.  They 
will  not  be  given  to  you  by  somebody.  You  will  give 
them  to  yourselves.  When  you  want  co-operation  bad 
enough  to  co-operate  co-operation  will  appear.  No  one 
will  bring  it  to  you  on  a  platter.  It  will  not  be  left  to 
you  in  the  codicil  of  a  last  testament.  It  will  not  re 
quire  the  mediation  of  a  Carnegie  library.  It  will  issue 
from  your  own  heart.  From  your  own  insight.  From 
your  own  backbone. 

The  world  is  yours,  you  who  are 
the  workers  of  the  world,  you  who  make  the  world's 
good  and  bad  for  better  or  for  worse.  When  will  you 
assert  your  right  to  your  own  ?  The  castes  will  not  as 
sert  your  right  for  you.  You  must  do  it  for  your 
selves.  When  your  will  at  last  is  will  your  will  will  be 
done.  Not  you,  a  few  of  you.  But  you,  the  whole  of 
you.  The  whole  of  you  who  work.  The  whole  of 
you  who  build.  The  whole  of  you  who  assume  the 
dirty  and  clean  tasks  of  the  world.  Who  take  the  ex 
tra  risks  of  the  world.  Who  live  for  the  world.  Who 
die  for  the  world.  The  field  is  spread  out  before  you. 
Will  you  harvest  it  ?  Or  will  you  always  look  on  with 
out  protest  and  see  it  gathered  by  alien  hands  ?  The 
broad  acres  are  yours.  The  choked  prospect  contains 
the  plenty  for  which  you  have  made  the  first  and  last 
sacrifices  of  loyal  service.  I  do  not  say  :  Take  it  with 
violent  hands.  I  say  :  Do  not  let  it  be  taken  with  vio 
lent  hands.  I  do  not  claim  that  you  have  any  right  to 

129 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

take  it  for  a  few.     You  have  only  one  right.     The  right 
to  take  it  for  all. 

It  is  not  up  to  the  law  of  gravitation 
to  act.  It  is  not  up  to  the  survival  of  the  fittest  to 
act.  It  is  not  up  to  the  benefactors  to  act.  Or  the 
churches.  Or  the  colleges.  Or  boards  of  charities. 
Or  any  agents.  Or  any  custodians.  It  is  up  to  you 
to  act.  You  are  gravitation.  You  are  the  fit.  You 
will  think  on  and  stumble  on  and  despair  on  and  curse 
on  and  on  and  on  until  you  are  ready.  Then  you  will 
hold  a  last  council  of  war.  The  last  council  of  war 
which  will  also  be  the  first  council  of  peace.  Then 
your  orders  will  go  out.  Orders  imperial  in  emphasis 
and  purport.  No  man,  no  power,  will  think  of  diso 
beying  them.  Disobedience  will  be  death.  They  will 
be  orders  of  love.  Orders  of  the  commune.  To-day 
there  is  mine  and  yours.  And  there  is  war.  To-mor 
row  there  will  be  no  more  mine  and  yours.  And  there 
will  be  peace.  The  world  will  no  longer  discuss  owner 
ship.  It  will  destroy  ownership.  The  castes  have 
been  able  to  remain  castes  because  you  have  been  una 
ble  to  become  a  class.  You,  workers,  the  master-ser 
vants,  the  servant-masters,  of  the  fraternal  earth. 
While  you  have  waited  and  troubled,  wondering  what 
it  was  your  right  and  your  will  to  do,  the  castes  have 
busily  strengthened  the  formal  titles  of  the  elect.  But 
the  power  of  repeal  was  always  in  your  hands.  You 
could  at  any  time  have  stopped  the  alienations  of  your 
inheritance.  But  you  were  irresolute.  You  only  half 

130 


WAY  OFF  SOMEWHERE 

knew.  You  only  half  dared.  The  eternal  laws  are 
ready  to  aid  you.  They  will  throw  all  their  might  on 
your  side.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  ask.  All  you  have 
to  do  is  to  resolve.  Nothing  can  stand  out  against  you 
when  once  you  stand  in  for  yourselves.  Everything  is 
ready  for  you.  Nothing  remains  to  be  contributed  by 
the  stranger.  Your  task  is  with  yourselves.  Inside. 
Your  struggle  is  with  your  own  skepticism.  Your  own 
nerve.  There  is  no  opposing  power  anywhere  whose 
genius  can  shadow  even  the  edge  of  your  affirmation. 
When  you,  the  workers,  decide  to  have  it  done.  To 
have  social  justice.  To  have  communities  instead  of 
castes  and  classes.  To  ask  to  own  nothing  but  to  ask 
for  the  privilege  of  using  everything.  To  take  the  lands 
home.  And  the  stores.  And  all  the  properties,  what 
ever  their  form.  Take  them  all  home  after  the  long 
estrangement.  Home  to  yourselves.  When  you,  the 
master-servants,  the  servant-masters,  decide  to  have  it 
done. 

WA  Y  OFF  Way  off   somewhere   is    the    social 

SOMEWHERE  paradise.  It  is  not  in  your  own 
house.  It  is  not  in  the  house  next  door.  It  is  not  in 
your  town.  In  your  country.  In  your  time.  It  is 
way  off  somewhere.  Somewhere  in  events.  Some 
where  in  the  years.  In  the  beyond.  You  preach  of 
paradise  in  your  churches.  But  paradise  is  not  in  the 
church.  You  pass  laws  for  paradise  in  legislatures. 
But  paradise  is  not  produced  by  the  state.  Paradise  is 

131 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

always  postponed.  Always  put  off  beyond.  Always 
seen  in  the  mists.  Always  approached  but  never 
reached.  Paradise.  Justice.  The  decent  relation  of 
man  with  man.  The  first  condition  of  social  equity. 
All  put  off.  Always  called.  Called  by  the  religions. 
Called  by  the  teachers.  Predicted  by  the  prophets. 
Yet  always  pushed  away.  Always  refused.  Eagerly 
answering  the  summons.  Brutally  rejected.  The  para 
dise  beyond.  Always  way  off.  Way  off. 

Yet  this  day 

is  as  good  as  any  day  for  paradise.  Why  should  we 
be  afraid  to  take  current  chances  ?  Why  should  we  be 
willing  to  stake  everything  on  the  future  and  nothing 
on  the  present  ?  What  is  the  matter  with  having  para 
dise  here  and  now  ?  Do  you  think  you  could  not  stand 
paradise  ?  Do  you  think  justice  would  hurt  you  or 
hurt  anybody  ?  Do  you  think  the  human  race  could 
not  immediately  size  up  and  out  to  the  dimensions  of 
economic  equity  ?  Why  should  we  skulk  in  the  pre 
sent  ?  Why  should  we  apologize  ?  Why  should  we 
be  willing  to  admit  that  the  future  is  good  enough  for 
justice  but  that  the  present  is  not  good  enough  for  jus 
tice  ?  Justice  is  good  enough  and  not  too  good  for  us. 
Why  should  we  not  be  good  enough  and  not  too  good 
for  justice  ?  Do  you  think  that  the  General  Slocum  is 
good  enough  for  you  but  that  justice  is  too  good  for 
you  ?  Do  you  think  that  Colorado  is  good  enough  for 
you  but  that  justice  is  too  good  for  you  ?  Do  you 
think  that  the  insatiable  robberies  are  good  enough  for 

132 


WAY  OFF  SOMEWHERE 

you  but  that  the  communal  life  is  too  good  for  you  ? 
Do  you  think  that  when  interest  and  rent  and  profit 
make  a  bed  of  sorrow  for  you  that  bed  is  good  enough 
for  you  ?  And  yet  that  a  bed  made  for  you  by  justice 
would  be  a  too  easy  bed  for  you  ?  Do  you  think  that 
all  the  maimings  and  sacrifices  of  private  property  mer 
cilessly  assailing  you  everywhere  are  proper  and  due  ? 
And  yet  that  a  whole  body  and  a  whole  soul  and  a  fair 
outlook  upon  life  is  better  than  you  deserve  ?  Do  you 
think  that  the  half-fed  youngsters  in  the  tenements  get 
what  they  are  fit  for  when  they  pale  away  to  an  early 
death  ?  And  yet  that  food  enough  and  play  enough 
and  fresh  air  enough  and  green  trees  enough  are  not 
fit  for  the  starvelings  of  the  tenements  ?  Do  you  think 
that  the  workers  who  do  the  work  of  the  world  are 
equal  to  the  work  of  the  world  but  not  equal  to  the  re 
wards  of  the  world  ?  Do  you  think  that  the  enslaved 
motherhood  of  the  world  is  equal  to  slavery  but  is  not 
equal  to  freedom  ?  Do  you  think  ?  Do  you  think  ? 
Answer  me.  Or  do  not  answer  me.  But  think.  Put 
the  question  to  yourself.  The  question  not  of  the  pre 
sent  to  the  future.  The  question  of  the  future  to  the 
present.  It  is  time  we  stopped  making  confessions. 
It  is  time  we  made  some  claims.  Not  claims  on  ac 
count  of  the  future.  Claims  for  to-day.  For  this 
hour.  For  the  street  we  live  in.  For  the  people  we 
know.  For  the  imminent  paradise. 

You  are  a  profes 
sor.     And  you  put  everything  off  beyond  the  college. 

133 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

You  are  a  lawyer.  And  you  put  everything  off  beyond 
the  law.  You  are  anything.  You  practice  any  sort  of 
a  profession  or  any  sort  of  a  trade.  And  you  put  off 
everything  beyond  the  profession  and  the  trade.  You 
put  religion  off  beyond  the  church.  You  put  equity 
off  beyond  commerce.  You  put  even  social  honor  off 
beyond  society.  Always  putting  off.  If  you  belong 
to  the  trade  union  perhaps  you  put  justice  off  beyond 
the  trade  union.  Everybody  is  putting  off.  On  every 
pretext.  Brave  for  to-morrow.  Afraid  of  to-day. 
Heroic  for  some  one  else.  Cowardly  for  yourself. 
Conceding  that  anything  is  possible  to  the  future. 
Doubting  if  anything  is  possible  to  the  present.  De 
lay  the  lord  high  god  omnipotent.  Starving.  Yet 
delaying  the  food.  The  spirit  calls.  Yet  you  delay 
with  the  letter.  You  are  learned  in  nonsense.  You 
quote  evolution  against  haste.  Against  to-day.  In 
favor  of  doing  nothing  yourself.  In  favor  of  waiting 
for  to-morrow  to  do  everything.  But  what  will  evolu 
tion  do  for  you  if  you  do  nothing  for  evolution  ?  Evo 
lution  includes  delay.  But  it  also  includes  hurry.  It 
includes  things  that  retreat  and  things  that  stand  still. 
But  it  also  includes  that  which  goes  on.  Why  should 
you  say  that  the  present  should  not  go  on  ?  That  only 
the  future  should  go  on  ?  Am  I  to  be  a  dead  tool  of 
evolution  ?  Or  am  I  to  be  a  vital  factor  in  evolution  ? 
I  say  that  anything  in  social  justice  that  is  good  for  the 
future  may  be  good  for  to-day.  That  I  am  going  to 
try  it  on  to-day.  I  do  not  mistrust  my  own  era.  My 

134 


WAY  OFF  SOMEWHERE 

own  powers.  The  potency  of  the  immediate  event  to 
provide  for  beautiful  results.  I  am  willing  to  wait. 
But  I  am  not  going  to  force  myself  to  wait.  I  am  will 
ing  to  wait  until  the  land  lords  and  the  other  lords  are 
dead  and  gone.  But  if  I  can  hasten  their  death  and 
going  I  am  bound  to  do  so.  My  haste  is  quite  as  sig 
nificant  as  your  delay.  I  ask  for  nothing  for  the  future 
which  I  do  not  equally  ask  for  the  present.  I  ask  the 
future  to  give  up  nothing  which  I  am  not  willing  to 
give  up  now.  I,  too,  see  justice  way  off  somewhere 
arbitrating  the  destinies  of  a  coming  man.  But  I  also 
see  justice  very  near,  in  you,  in  myself,  in  the  everyday 
of  the  current  chronology,  arbitrating  the  intimate  des 
tines  of  the  life  we  live. 

It  is  a  dangerous  habit.    That 

of  putting  off  justice.  That  of  seeing  the  injustice  of 
the  particular  age  we  know  and  of  refusing  to  see  that 
justice  is  also  possible  in  the  particular  age  we  know. 
Always  to  say  discouraging  things  about  human  nature. 
Always  to  say  that  the  endowed  college  will  do  but 
that  the  freed  teacher  will  not  do.  Always  to  say  that 
the  individual  will  do  but  that  the  community  will  not 
do.  Always  to  say  that  hell  will  do  but  that  heaven 
will  not  do.  Always  to  say  that  everybody  must  wait 
until  everybody  is  ready.  Always  to  say  that  it  is  no 
use  trying  to  be  decent  to-day  but  that  somewhere  way 
off  we  may  all  be  decent  in  the  fatness  of  time.  I  say 
no.  No.  The  man  who  does  not  honor  to-day  will 
not  honor  to-morrow.  If  I  believed  my  own  heart  ut- 

135 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

terly  incapable  of  justice  I  would  not  be  willing  to 
admit  that  some  other  heart  a  thousand  years  ahead 
will  be  capable  of  justice.  I  want  justice  to  start  right 
now,  here,  with  you,  with  me.  I  do  not  doubt  but  that 
man  even  as  he  is  would  do  decently  well  with  justice. 
Think  of  what  man  has  done  with  blindness  and  in 
justice.  Then  try  to  think  of  what  he  would  do  with 
his  eyes  open  and  with  justice.  It  makes  me  giddy 
with  justified  expectation.  It  suffocates  me  with  prom 
ise.  I  do  not  need  to  go  far  to  get  the  collateral.  I 
offer  man  as  his  own  collateral.  His  own  recognizance 
is  enough.  After  all  the  delays.  After  all  the  apologies 
and  surrenders.  Now  I  offer  you  man  in  his  own  per 
son.  Not  the  man  way  off  somewhere.  The  man 
here.  The  first  man  you  meet.  Any  man. 

You  have 

made  one  engagement  with  justice  after  another.  You 
have  broken  them  all.  You  were  too  busy  to  keep 
your  engagements  with  justice.  You  had  to  instruct 
classes  in  a  university.  You  had  to  play  judge  in  a 
court.  You  had  pictures  to  paint.  You  had  sales  to 
make  in  your  store.  You  had  navies  to  start  off  on 
voyages  of  conquest.  All  manner  of  palliating  func 
tions  to  fulfill.  Justice  was  on  the  spot  appointed.  But 
you  did  not  appear.  You  sent  excuses.  Or  defaulted 
without  a  word.  Somehow  you  have  expected  other 
men  later  on  to  keep  their  trysts.  But  you  ask  to  be 
pardoned  your  own  cowardly  surrenders  and  neglects. 
But  why  should  you  demand  from  them  what  you  do 

136 


WHAT  IS  YOUR  OWN 

not  demand  from  yourself  ?  Your  time  is  not  way  off. 
It  is  right  here.  Your  place  in  evolution  is  not  with 
men  to  come.  It  is  with  men  who  have  arrived.  You 
cannot  borrow  righteousness  of  the  beyond.  You  must 
set  yourself  right  with  the  beat  of  your  own  heart.  Re 
member  your  appointment  with  justice.  Not  an  ap 
pointment  in  vague  aftermists  of  history.  An  appoint 
ment  in  the  clear  noon  of  your  personal  career.  Be  at 
the  place  on  time.  Even  ahead  of  time.  Push  for 
ward.  Do  not  drag  back.  Let  justice  see  that  you 
have  faith  in  justice  as  incarnated  fact  as  well  as  in  jus 
tice  as  a  succoring  dream.  Do  not  go  to  justice  saying: 
The  time  will  come.  Go  to  justice  saying :  The  time 
is  here.  Do  not  go  to  justice  saying  :  A  man  will  come 
to  serve.  Go  to  justice  saying:  I  am  here  to  serve. 

WHA  T  IS  What  is  your  own  you  will  fight  for. 
YOUR  OWN  My  heart  says  to  you:  Yes,  fight  for 
it.  History  says  to  you :  Yes,  fight  for  it.  It  is  not 
difficult  to  get  this  far.  But  a  more  baffling  problem 
precedes.  What  is  your  own  ?  What  does  belong  to 
you  ?  Are  you  so  clear  about  that  ?  Before  any  other 
question  is  answered  that  question  must  be  answered. 
Before  you  can  fight  for  your  own  you  must  know  your 
own.  And  that  is  where  we  stumble  and  fall.  That  is 
where  we  at  least  doubt  and  delay.  For  this  very  ex 
traordinary  decision  is  hard  to  make.  The  more  you 
think  of  it  the  harder  to  make.  To  tell  exactly  what  is 
your  own.  To  separate  your  own  from  my  own  or 

137 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

from  any  one  else's  own.  Almost  anything  harder  is 
easy.  Yet  this  is  the  decision  you  make  offhand. 
You  are  deceived  by  great  inherited  and  environing 
illusions.  You  are  hypnotized  by  ancestral  and  cur 
rent  fallacies.  You  fight  first.  Then  you  investigate. 
I  ask  you  to  reconsider.  I  ask  you  to  investigate  be 
fore  you  fight. 

What  is  your  own  ?  When  I  ask  you 
that  you  smile.  Just  as  if  I  asked  you  to  repeat  your 
a  b  c's.  Well.  Do  you  really  know  ?  I  commit  you 
to  the  mercies  of  an  honest  inquiry.  The  deeper  you 
get  into  that  inquiry  the  more  complicated  it  becomes. 
Why  ?  Because  it  is  unanswerable.  Because  the  re 
sult  you  expect  can  never  be  reached.  But  you  think 
I  am  wrong.  Grant  it.  1  do  not  ask  you  to  believe 
I  am  right.  I  ask  you  to  investigate.  And  when  you 
have  investigated  you  will  see  that  I  am  right.  Lots  of 
men  have  started  out  on  that  journey.  But  they  never 
reached  its  end.  There  was  no  end  but  the  one  end. 
Confession.  I  do  not  ask  for  a  premature  confession. 
I  wait  for  your  confession.  I  will  give  you  plenty  of 
time.  What  is  your  own  ?  Where  is  the  outer  line 
upon  which  your  pickets  and  my  pickets  salute  ?  Can 
you  divide  the  sunlight  ?  Can  you  separate  the  parti 
cles  of  the  sea  ?  Can  you  dissever  the  atoms  of  love  ? 
Can  you  reduce  justice  to  ingredients  ?  You  will  fight 
for  your  own.  But  what  is  your  own  ?  What  will 
make  you  acquainted  with  your  own  ?  Will  chemistry 
make  you  acquainted  with  your  own  ?  Can  you  find 

138 


WHAT  IS  YOUR  OWN 

your  own  under  the  lens  ?  By  surveying  the  heavens  ? 
I  think  there  is  only  one  thing  that  will  make  you 
acquainted  with  your  own.  That  one  thing  is  love. 
And  what  love  fails  to  tell  you  about  you  will  never  be 
told. 

I  have  been  happy.  And  I  have  let  happiness 
search  for  what  is  my  own.  I  have  been  despondent. 
And  I  have  let  despondency  search  for  what  is  my  own. 
I  have  sent  ships  to  sea  looking  for  what  is  my  own. 
And  crowded  the  railroads  with  my  messengers.  And 
looked  for  redemption  by  telegraph.  And  I  have  cru 
cified  myself  with  a  professor  on  my  right  hand  and  a 
priest  on  my  left  hand  looking  for  what  is  my  own.  I 
have  listened  to  warnings  looking  for  my  own.  And 
have  taken  counsel  of  all  centers  of  learning  stupefied 
by  dead  wisdom.  And  of  all  centers  of  power  weak 
ened  by  tyranny.  And  when  the  prophets  have  come 
I  have  hurried  to  them.  And  when  the  poets  came 
rhyming  their  way  through  mazes  of  callow  print  I  have 
given  their  songs  the  full  benefit  of  every  doubt.  Al 
ways  looking  for  what  is  my  own.  Always  defeated. 
Always  victorious.  Never  just  sure  of  my  own.  Yet 
always  sure  that  something  was  my  own.  That  some 
how  some  day  I  would  find  my  own.  That  we  would 
meet  and  recognize  and  lose  identity  in  each  other. 
My  own  to  be  made  flesh  in  me.  I  to  be  made  flesh  in 
my  own. 

I  have  questioned  all  the  authorities.     All  the 
custodians  of   gospels.     All  the  policemen.     All  the 

139 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

censors.  All  the  voices  that  persuade  and  dissuade. 
All  properties  and  poverties.  All  mastership  and  im- 
potency.  Nothing  has  gone  past  me  unseen.  No 
claimant  has  spoken  unheard.  No  threats  have  thun 
dered  and  found  me  irreverent  or  asleep.  I  have  real 
ized  all  that  sight  and  sound  could  do  to  take  me  to 
what  is  my  own.  To  bring  what  is  my  own  to  me. 
But  I  still  stand  here  with  empty  hands.  With  empty 
hands.  But  there  is  just  the  trouble.  What  right  have 
I  to  expect  my  hands  to  be  full  ?  There  is  another 
thing  about  me  that  is  not  empty.  My  heart.  My 
hands  are  empty.  My  heart  is  so  full.  And  now  I 
begin  to  see  what  the  search  was  all  for.  It  was  not  for 
the  hands  at  all.  It  was  all  for  the  heart.  For  this 
search  was  not  really  a  search  for  property  and  rights 
my  own.  It  was  for  a  brother  my  own.  All  brothers 
my  own.  All  men.  For  the  brother  my  own.  And 
the  hands  full  may  be  against  my  brother.  Yes,  the 
more  nearly  full  the  more  nearly  against.  But  the 
heart  full  is  always  for  my  brother.  Is  that  very 
brother  himself  realized  in  a  foreground  of  practical 
faith.  And  I  think  that  is  what  is  my  own.  That 
nothing  in  this  universe  is  my  own  but  that  brother. 
That  if  I  miss  that  brother  I  have  missed  the  universe. 
The  universe  ceases  to  exist. 

You   have    the  secret  at 

last.  After  all  the  discoveries.  After  all  the  jealousies 
of  possession.  After  all  the  quarrels  about  rights  and 
duties.  After  successions  of  religions  and  dynasties  of 

140 


WHAT  IS  YOUR  OWN 

rulership.  After  wars  and  peaces  after  wars.  After 
books  and  prophets  and  martyrs.  After  sympathy  and 
hate.  After  all  these.  Because  of  all  these.  The  se 
cret  is  out.  That  there  is  no  thing  your  own  after  all. 
That  there  is  no  physical  thing  your  own.  That  noth 
ing  in  all  the  medley  and  order  of  life  is  just  your  own. 
That  nothing  is  just  not  your  own.  That  somehow 
the  things  your  own  that  you  have  hungered  and  thirst 
ed  and  fought  for  are  not  worth  while.  Would  not  be 
worth  while  if  they  were  your  own.  Are  doubly  not 
worth  while  not  being  your  own.  That  the  only  thing 
your  own  cannot  be  counted  up  or  measured  or  put 
into  words.  That  your  brother  is  what  is  your  own. 
Not  a  sliver  more  or  less.  That  everything  else  made 
your  own  is  in  the  way.  All  the  properties  and  pow 
ers.  All  individual  prerogative.  Dividends,  discounts 
and  devils.  All  in  the  way.  That  only  one  thing  is 
your  own  anywhere.  That  love  is  your  own.  The 
love  that  finds  you  your  brother.  The  love  that  sees 
all  men  for  brothers.  Not  property  and  interests  and 
rents  for  brothers.  Only  men.  Men  forever  broth 
ers.  All  men.  Love  is  what  is  your  own. 

What  is 

your  own  you  will  fight  for  ?  Yes.  Long  you  went 
not  knowing  what  was  your  own.  You  thought  prop 
erty  was  your  own.  That  power  was  your  own.  But 
that  was  because  you  slept.  You  woke  up.  Then  you 
passed  from  your  individual  nightmare  into  the  glory 
of  the  average  day.  Then  you  knew  what  was  your 

141 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

own.  That  only  one  thing  was  your  own.  That  love 
was  your  own.  And  now  I  hear  you  saying  better 
things  of  life.  You  no  longer  say  that  what  is  your 
own  you  will  fight  for.  You  have  lived  long  enough 
to  revise  yourself.  You  say  that  what  is  your  own  you 
will  love  for.  Think  of  it.  Revised  yourself.  What 
is  your  own  you  will  love  for. 

WHA  T  MEN  What  men  might  be  if  they  were 
MIGHT  BE  allowed  to  be  men  no  arithmetician 
could  figure  and  no  moralist  could  guess.  The  pros 
pect  would  baffle  all  prophecy.  It  would  outfigure  all 
figures.  We  do  not  encourage  manhood  in  men.  We 
put  the  whole  of  civilization  in  the  way.  Look  where 
the  man  may  the  path  is  blocked.  Men  are  permitted. 
The  man  is  forbidden.  You  speak  of  men  who  are 
weak.  What  do  you  know  of  weak  men  and  strong 
men  ?  The  thing  has  not  yet  been  put  to  a  fair  test. 
We  have  had  half  tests.  False  tests.  Show  tests. 
Pious  tests  of  churchmen.  Political  tests  of  heelers. 
Economic  tests  of  tariff  mongers.  Tests  of  plutocracy. 
Tests  of  trades.  Robber  tests.  Tests  of  all  kinds  in 
the  dark.  But  the  honest  man  test  yet  remains  to  be 
tried.  The  test  in  the  open.  The  test  out  in  the  sun. 
Weak  men.  What  makes  weak  men  ?  We  pride  our 
selves  upon  our  weak  men.  We  do  everything  to 
produce  the  weak  men.  The  strong  men  are  either 
seduced  or  destroyed.  The  strong  man  is  given  only 
one  alternative.  He  can  decide  to  be  weak.  Then  he 

142 


WHAT  MEN  MIGHT  BE 

may  be  left  to  be  honest.  He  may  decide  to  be  strong. 
Then  he  must  be  converted  to  the  class  of  those  who 
exploit.  Our  civilization  leaves  only  honesty  to  the 
weak.  It  leaves  only  robbery  to  the  strong.  Is  that  a 
basis  upon  which  to  build  a  conclusive  brotherhood  ? 
To  build  literatures  and  sciences  and  arts  and  states 
and  personality  ?  Is  this  the  test  you  want  to  see  per 
petuated  ?  Can  any  race  long  survive  the  regime  of 
exalted  robbery  ?  Civilization  takes  good  care  of  men. 
But  it  cares  nothing  for  man.  What  becomes  of  man 
while  you  are  taking  care  of  men  ?  Civilization  takes 
good  care  of  robbery.  But  it  cares  nothing  for  service. 
What  becomes  of  service  while  you  are  taking  care  of 
robbery  ?  Yet  all  life  when  life  deserves  to  be  called 
life  is  rich  or  poor  in  the  quality  of  the  mutual  service 
of  men.  Every  man  serving  all  he  can  for  every  other 
man  serving  all  he  can.  Not  service  given  according 
to  returns.  Service  given  according  to  power.  I  giv 
ing  with  all  the  power  I  have  to  give  for  you  giving 
with  all  the  power  you  have  to  give.  Are  you  afraid  to 
concede  man  a  chance  to  live  this  life  ?  Are  you  afraid 
of  the  result  of  this  test  ?  Are  you  afraid  to  put  this 
seed  into  the  ground  ?  The  seed  of  this  test  ?  And 
help  it  all  that  help  can  to  fruit?  And  eat  the  general 
fruit  in  the  spirit  of  human  service  ?  Are  you  afraid  ? 
Do  you  shrink  from  the  trial  ? 

What   men    might   be. 

You  have  decided  so  many  points  offhand  against  men. 
Make  an  experiment  the  other  way.  Decide  a  few 

143 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

points  for  men.  Try  a  few  inferences  in  their  favor. 
Try  them  in  religion.  Try  them  in  politics.  Try  them 
in  trade.  Try  them  in  your  parlors.  Try  them  in 
international  relations.  Try  them  in  war.  Try  them 
in  that  war  worse  than  war.  Try  them  in  commercial 
peace.  Whenever  you  think  mean  things  about  man, 
try  them.  Whenever  you  think  yourself  a  superior 
person,  try  them.  Whenever  you  think  you  should 
have  a  preferred  chance  to  live,  try  them.  When  you 
think  that  art  is  a  great  thing  and  that  labor  is  not  a 
great  thing,  try  them.  Try  them.  Try  them.  These 
inferences  you  have  for  so  long  made  offhand  against 
men.  See  if  men  may  not  respond.  See  if  men  may 
not  respond  in  man.  Men  will  answer  man.  When 
called  in  the  man  spirit  men  will  always  answer  man. 
Do  not  take  me  for  a  good  prophet.  Try  men  for 
yourself.  Then  you  will  be  your  own  prophet.  You 
will  not  need  my  word  to  back  your  word.  Your  word 
will  be  enough  for  you.  For  the  whole  of  life  will  be 
back  of  your  word.  But  make  the  trial.  Create  the 
case.  Take  away  all  the  obstacles.  Give  man  a  chance 
to  be  free.  The  man  in  men0  The  man  in  your 
self. 

What  men  might  be.  If  you  took  all  obstructive 
institutions  out  of  the  way.  If  you  took  the  political 
state  out  of  the  way0  If  you  took  the  anti-Christianity 
of  the  Christian  church  out  of  the  way.  If  you  took 
war  out  of  the  way.  If  you  took  humbug  peace  out  of 
the  way.  If  you  took  the  military  class  out  of  the  way. 

144 


WHAT  MEN  MIGHT  BE 

If  you  took  the  priestly  class  out  of  the  way.  If  you 
took  the  literary  class  out  of  the  way.  The  musical 
class.  The  mere  painters  and  the  mere  orators  and  the 
mere  showmen  of  any  kind.  If  you  took  them  out  of 
the  way.  If  you  took  wages  out  of  the  way.  If  you 
took  the  landlord  off  the  land.  If  you  took  the  store- 
lord  out  of  the  store.  If  you  took  the  factorylord  out 
of  the  factory.  If  you  took  the  boss  out  of  the  shop. 
If  you  took  all  who  are  served  without  serving  out  of 
the  way.  If  you  took  heaven  out  of  the  way  and  hell 
out  of  the  way.  Yes,  if  you  took  God  himself  out  of 
the  way.  ( It  will  not  hurt  God  to  take  God  out  of  the 
way.  For  God  is  never  in  the  way.)  If  you  took  all 
these  out  of  the  way.  Yes,  all  these  and  more  than 
these.  If  you  left  no  warnings  and  pitfalls  and  am 
bushes  in  the  way  of  men.  Then  men  would  have  a 
chance  to  be  men.  Then  men  would  be  man. 

What 

man  might  be.  But  for  you,  whoever  you  are.  If  you 
did  not  spend  most  of  the  time  in  all  your  days  putting 
things  in  his  way.  You  put  your  store  in  his  way. 
You  put  your  profession  in  his  way.  You  put  up  fac 
tories  in  his  way.  You  put  your  Democratic  conven 
tion  in  his  way.  Your  Republican  convention.  You 
have  got  a  whole  Congress  in  Washington  in  his  way. 
A  President  in  his  way.  You  stole  the  Philippines  and 
put  them  in  his  way.  You  took  a  shabby  fall  out  of 
Panama  and  put  it  in  his  way.  And  so  on.  And  so 
on.  Almost  everything  you  do  you  do  to  put  it  in  his 

145 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

way.  Suppose  you  changed  your  life.  Suppose  you 
shifted  your  principles.  Suppose  you  turned  your  face 
towards  justice.  Suppose  you  stopped  putting  every 
thing  in  his  way.  Suppose  you  commenced  taking 
everything  out  of  his  way.  Suppose  you  spent  the 
whole  of  the  rest  of  your  life  keeping  out  of  his  way. 
Suppose  you  stopped  always  demanding  service.  Sup 
pose  you  commenced  always  to  serve.  Would  that  not 
give  a  more  auspicious  aspect  to  civilization  ?  To  the 
average  of  social  behavior  ?  To  your  own  life  ?  Would 
it  not  make  civilization  worth  while  at  last  ?  And  all 
men  worth  while  at  last  ?  Yes.  Even  you  worth  while 
at  last  ?  For  then  we  should  know  what  men  might 
be.  What  men  might  be. 

FOR  THE  SAKE  I  am  a  workman.  I  have  had  my 
OF  LIFE  troubles.  I  have  been  in  strikes. 

I  have  been  out  of  work.  I  have  had  enough  to  eat 
and  to  wear.  I  have  starved  and  gone  about  in  rags. 
The  average  experience  of  the  average  workman  has 
been  my  experience.  I  have  done  handsome  things 
and  done  mean  things.  I  have  not  always  been  decent 
to  my  employers.  My  employers  have  not  always  been 
decent  to  me.  We  have  lied  to  each  other.  I  have 
sneaked  their  work.  They  have  sneaked  my  pay.  I 
have  quarreled  where  1  would  rather  have  had  peace. 
I  have  done  my  share  to  make  things  better.  Yes,  to 
make  them  worse.  Yes,  to  keep  them  where  they  are. 
1  am  a  victim.  But  I  am  also  a  villain.  Do  not  take 

146 


FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  LIFE 

me  for  good  or  bad.  I  am  neither.  I  am  both.  Just 
the  workman.  Whoever  you  are  you  have  employed 
me.  I  work  under  a  million  names  but  I  have  really 
only  one  name.  Whoever  you  have  employed  that 
man  is  me.  The  sneak  ?  That  is  me.  The  slave  ? 
That  is  me.  The  omnipotently  decent  laborer  ?  That 
is  me.  You  know  me.  It  does  not  matter  in  which 
one  of  the  million  names  I  address  you.  I  address 
you.  I  call  upon  your  atoms  to  assemble.  Listen. 

You 

think  I  am  fighting  a  fight  for  wages.  For  pay.  For 
a  glass  more  of  beer.  For  better  cigars.  For  costlier 
clothes.  To  get  rid  of  rags.  Well.  So  I  am.  But 
only  incidentally.  I  am  really  fighting  for  life.  As  long 
as  wages  are  only  wages  high  wages  and  low  wages  are 
all  one.  But  when  wages  are  life  I  embody  my  plaint 
in  a  different  song.  I  am  fighting  for  life.  I  have 
fought  fights  for  wages.  But  I  have  fought  my  last 
fight  for  wages.  1  have  seen  that  no  fight  for  wages 
can  be  the  fight  of  freedom.  There  is  only  one  fight 
left.  The  fight  against  wages.  That  is  the  fight  for 
freedom.  The  fight  for  life.  Wages  can  never  give 
life.  Ownership  alone  can  give  life.  Now  I  fight  for 
the  sake  of  life.  All  other  considerations  must  retire 
before  the  consideration  for  life.  Not  for  the  sake  of 
a  house.  Nor  for  luxury.  Nor  for  robbery.  Nor  for 
the  life  of  one  life  built  upon  the  slavery  of  another 
life.  For  the  sake  of  life  itself.  Life  on  first  prin 
ciples.  Do  you  think  that  you  have  the  right  to  wish 

147 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

to  be  free  and  that  I  have  not  the  right  to  wish  to  be 
free  ?  Am  I  to  concede  freedom  to  you  while  you  re 
fuse  to  concede  freedom  to  me  ?  Do  you  think  I  wish 
to  live  in  order  to  have  the  privilege  of  living  ?  It  is 
the  other  way  about.  I  want  the  privilege  of  living  in 
order  to  live.  I  would  give  up  everything  for  the  sake 
of  life.  Real  life.  Even  give  up  life  itself.  Your 
pocket  full  asks  my  pocket  empty  :  "Why  should  we 
keep  this  discussion  on  the  vulgar  plane  of  money  ?" 
Surely.  Why?  I  can  see  but  one  reason.  Because 
pocket  full  has  all  the  money.  We  will  not  insist  upon 
vulgarity  after  we  have  justice.  We  are  now  on  the 
way  to  justice.  Not  on  the  way  to  money.  On  the  way 
to  justice.  We  incidentally  say  "money."  We  finally 
say  "justice."  Money  is  not  for  the  sake  of  money. 
It  is  for  the  sake  of  justice.  Freedom  belongs  to  labor. 
Now  freedom  is  in  one  place  and  labor  is  in  another. 
Or,  rather,  freedom  is  nowhere.  For  it  will  always  be 
true  that  the  victor  in  trespass  will  equally  with  the  vic 
tim  forever  remain  in  bond.  I  am  not  a  saint.  But  I 
see  that  my  protest  is  spiritual.  I  am  after  spiritual 
results.  Spiritual  opportunities.  I  want  to  be  free  to 
live  life  on  a  plan  that  will  afford  me  the  last  equality. 
I  do  not  want  to  be  bigger  than  anybody  else.  Or  to 
enjoy  more  margin.  I  am  not  jealous  of  any  man's 
possessions.  But  I  may  be  jealous  of  his  opportuni 
ties.  I  have  been  tied  down  to  a  spot  by  wages. 
Wages  have  stood  over  me  with  a  whip.  I  have  been 
driven  to  work.  Not  loved  to  work.  Driven.  And 

148 


FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  LIFE 

no  work  to  which  a  man  goes  unwillingly  is  good  work. 
I  am  not  expecting  to  scant  my  work.  To  make  less 
of  it.  But  I  do  not  want  work  to  make  less  of  me.  I 
do  not  want  wages  to  make  less  of  me.  I  am  to  be 
first.  Always  first.  Before  my  stomach.  Before  pro 
prietorship.  I  must  be  first.  For  the  sake  of  life.  For 
the  sake  of  poetry.  For  the  sake  of  the  immaterial 
life  that  the  material  life  may  be  made  to  destroy.  Do 
you  think  that  I  am  only  an  animal  ?  That  I  only  want 
to  be  fed  and  fondled  ?  Set  me  out  in  the  desert.  But 
set  me  free.  I  want  a  chance  for  my  body  because  I 
want  a  chance  for  my  soul.  I  am  not  a  feeder.  I  am 
a  lover.  I  am  not  inanimate  dust.  I  am  animate  song. 
Why  should  you  have  all  the  chances  of  life  ?  Why 
should  class  doors  be  shut  in  my  face  ?  I  do  not  de 
mand  the  privilege  of  owning  things.  I  demand  the 
privilege  of  living  life.  Living  life  until  life  is  full.  Do 
you  think  I  quarrel  with  you  because  you  starve  my 
stomach.  Go  along.  I  quarrel  because  you  starve  my 
life.  Life  is  not  stomach  though  stomach  is  a  part  of 
life. 

Why  do  I  hate  wages  ?  Because  wages  are  in  my 
way.  Why  do  I  inveigh  against  private  property  ? 
Because  it,  too,  is  in  my  way.  All  things  must  clear 
all  ways  for  me.  What  would  anybody  do  for  the  sake 
of  wages  ?  Love  ?  Worship  ?  Play  ?  Labor  ?  Not 
one  thing  would  be  done  for  the  sake  of  wages.  There 
is  not  one  thing  but  would  be  done  for  the  sake  of  life. 
Life  is  what  I  want.  What  I  must  have.  As  I  cannot 

149 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

see  life  in  the  round  with  wages  left  in  it  I  must  clean 
wages  out  of  life.  Not  for  appetite's  sake.  Nor  for 
passion's  sake.  Nor  for  social  prestige.  Nor  for  any 
extrinsic  values.  But  for  intrinsic  life.  For  the  per 
fect  organization  of  experience.  For  the  last  prizes  of 
progress.  Is  life  to  be  forever  yours  and  never  mine  ? 
Am  I  to  serve  life  forever  for  wages  and  never  to  serve  it 
for  love  ?  Is  it  for  life's  sake  that  I  am  a  slave  ?  That 
I  sink  into  devastating  shadows  of  economic  despair  ? 
Is  it  for  life's  sake  that  the  law  is  against  me  ?  Courts? 
The  clergy  ?  Is  it  for  life's  sake  that  the  markets  are 
quoted  on  the  other  side  ?  That  the  operas  and  the 
concerts  and  the  colleges  and  flowers  in  winter  and  voy 
ages  are  weighed  against  my  enfranchisement  ?  I  have 
tried  all  the  old  methods.  They  have  all  failed.  I  de 
clare  now  for  life.  I  put  everything  aside  for  life. 
Property.  Honors.  Wages.  All  go  for  life.  My  re 
volt  is  based  upon  life.  Your  resistance  is  resistance 
against  life.  That  is  why  you  must  fail  and  I  must 
succeed.  For  life  always  belongs  to  life.  Life  never 
belongs  to  wages.  To  the  physical  rewards.  To  ma 
terial  possession.  It  always  belongs  to  life.  Every 
thing  in  its  way  must  be  assailed.  The  hosts  of  the 
fortressed  opposition  must  be  taught  the  lesson  of  de 
struction.  Not  for  the  sake  of  your  bellies.  Not  be 
cause  my  old  coat  is  ragged  in  rebellion.  For  the  sake 
of  life.  For  the  sake  of  that  life  of  the  spirit  which  is 
my  life  as  well  as  yours  or  is  nobody's  life  at  all.  Life 
belongs  to  life  for  the  sake  of  life  or  is  not  life  at  all. 

150 


DO  YOU  NOT  SEE,  DEAR  BROTHER? 

The  social  vista  is  clouded.  Myriad  discrepancies 
have  marred  the  landscape.  Have  come  between 
life  and  its  perfect  expression.  All  the  discrepancies 
must  be  dissipated.  All  discrepancies  of  property  and 
class  which  interrupt  the  free  procession  of  life.  For 
the  sake  of  life.  For  the  sake  of  life. 

DO  YOU  NOT  SEE,  Do  you  not  see,  dear  brother  ? 
DEA  RBRO  THER  ?  You  no  sooner  get  your  trouble 
settled  but  it  unsettles  again.  You  beg,  borrow  and 
steal  peace.  But  peace  will  not  come  to  the  beggar, 
the  borrower  or  the  thief.  It  will  only  come  to  law. 
You  compromise.  You  arbitrate.  You  give  some 
thing  to  get  more.  You  go  to  bed  happy.  The  stars 
are  all  calm.  But  the  sun  in  the  morning  comes  up 
with  trouble  in  its  face.  Why  is  your  peace  never 
peace  ?  Why  is  settlement  never  settlement  ?  You 
are  always  chasing  phantom  hopes.  The  thing  you  ex 
pect  to  happen  never  happens.  It  could  not  happen. 
You  make  your  appeal  to  the  wrong  court.  You  think 
that  you  can  hit  or  miss  yourself  into  the  equities. 
That  you  can  evade  the  law  and  appeal  to  the  accident. 
You  have  seen  what  accident  can  do.  It  disintegrates. 
It  cannot  check  your  fall.  The  law  upholds. 

Do  you 

not  see,  dear  brothers  ?  Your  masters  are  afraid  of  the 
law.  But  they  are  not  afraid  of  the  accident.  The  ac 
cidents  are  all  grist  to  their  mill.  All  money  paid  by 
you  over  their  counter.  They  are  willing  to  trust 

151 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

themselves  to  chance.  They  will  not  trust  themselves 
to  law.  They  can  cover  the  chances.  But  they  can 
not  trap  the  law.  Every  chance  you  are  willing  to  play 
is  a  throw  on  their  side  of  the  table.  The  chance  game 
is  a  game  they  love.  And  it  is  a  game  you  always  lose. 
But  the  law  plays  you  fair.  The  economic  law.  The 
law  of  the  brain.  The  law  of  the  heart.  It  plays  for 
good.  It  plays  for  justice. 

Dear  brothers,  you  have 

taken  your  chances  and  failed.  Every  time.  Failed. 
The  current  commercial  code  is  not  a  code  of  chance. 
It  is  a  code  of  law.  When  you  play  chance  against  it 
you  find  it  invulnerable.  It  remains  unhurt  after  your 
most  angry  assault.  What  can  destroy  it  ?  Law. 
A  law  bigger  than  itself.  A  law  consequent.  A  law 
without  haphazards  or  peradventures.  Intrenched  be 
hind  their  law  the  dominant  commercial  classes  may  de 
fy  you.  Defy  you.  That  is,  as  long  as  you  come 
dragging  along  your  hosts  of  accident  and  maybe. 
You  are  commencing  to  see  that  something  is  the  mat 
ter.  After  each  defeat  you  are  nearer  a  realization  of 
the  causes  of  your  inefficacy.  Your  shattered  army  re 
tires  and  reconsiders  itself.  What  is  the  fight  for? 
Your  accidents  and  your  maybes  sleep  the  sleep  of  de 
feat  and  depression.  Are  you  ever  to  win  ?  Not  by 
your  present  method.  Not  as  long  as  you  throw  your 
army  of  chance  up  against  their  army  of  intrenched 
law.  You  have  got  to  mobilize  laws  against  laws. 
You  have  got  to  learn  the  law  yourself.  To  learn  the 

152 


DO  YOU  NOT  SEE,  DEAR  BROTHER? 

better  law.  The  superceding  law.  And  when  you 
hurl  the  hosts  of  that  law  of  the  modern  spirit  upon  a 
fortified  medieval  code  you  will  whip  it.  Yes,  you 
will  rout  the  disciples  and  missionaries  of  the  ancient 
regime.  Then.  And  not  till  then. 

Do  not  imagine, 

dear  brothers,  that  anybody  has  anywhere  at  any  time 
invented  the  creed  against  which  you  rebel.  It  came 
by  law.  By  law  it  will  be  destroyed.  Your  trade  union 
is  the  accident.  Your  strike  is  the  chance.  Owner 
ship  is  the  law.  It  is  for  the  law  that  you  must  de 
clare.  Give  up  everything  for  the  law.  For  the  law 
will  give  up  everything  to  you.  But  chance  will  give 
up  nothing  to  you.  It  gives  what  it  must.  What  you 
have  the  power  to  take.  That's  all.  You  go  to  your 
bosses  quoting  the  commentaries  of  chance.  Your 
bosses  smile.  They  are  willing  to  take  chances  with 
you.  And  you  get  your  palm  round  the  blade  of  the 
knife.  Chance  is  starvation.  It  is  low  wages.  It  is 
the  lockout.  It  is  class  arrayed  against  class.  Good 
people  and  bad  people.  The  four  hundred  and  the 
masses.  Law  is  a  full  stomach.  Better  than  that,  it  is 
a  full  heart.  Law  provides.  It  is  universal.  Chance 
leads  always  from  appeal  to  appeal.  And  while  this  is 
going  on  you  are  paying  all  the  bills.  You  work  not 
only  to  pay  the  costs  of  your  own  contest  but  the  costs 
of  the  case  of  the  opposition.  Chance  is  expensive. 
Law  is  cheap.  Chance  needs  sophistry  to  sustain  it. 
The  law  can  speak  for  itself.  You  have  gone  on  a 

153 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

long  time  sending  out  one  fallacy  to  chase  another.  But 
your  couriers  never  come  back.  The  hazards  of  the 
task  are  too  great.  Your  couriers  are  swallowed  in  the 
abyss. 

Dear  brothers,  think  of  the  chances  you  have 
taken.  Think  of  the  stakes  you  have  put  up.  What 
can  you  show  for  it  ?  You  have  put  up  your  bodies 
and  souls.  You  have  put  up  your  wives  and  children. 
You  have  put  up  the  prostitute.  The  jail.  What  has 
it  done  for  you  ?  You  might  go  on  planting  this  seed 
forever.  The  fruit  would  be  the  same.  You  are  al 
ways  pausing  with  expedients.  When  will  you  go  on 
with  solutions  ?  So  much  rent  is  right  and  so  much  is 
wrong.  So  much  interest  is  right  and  so  much  is  wrong. 
So  much  profit  is  right  and  so  much  is  wrong.  Well. 
You  thresh  out  your  problems  that  way.  You  get  your 
right  rent  and  interest  and  profit.  But  have  you  got 
justice  ?  You  have  had  your  gamble.  And  now  you 
stare  blankly  at  the  emptiness  of  your  result.  The 
trouble  is  not  with  right  interest  or  wrong  interest.  It 
is  with  interest.  You  can  only  reduce  your  trouble  by 
reducing  your  rent.  You  can  only  get  rid  of  your 
trouble  by  getting  rid  of  your  rent.  Right  interest 
and  wrong  interest  are  chance.  No  interest  is  the  law. 
Property  is  the  law.  Private  property  is  the  accident. 
Ownership  is  the  law.  Private  ownership  is  the  acci 
dent.  As  long  as  you  put  up  one  private  right  against 
another  you  are  playing  a  game  of  chance.  But  when 
you  prove  the  private  by  the  general  right  you  are  op- 

154 


AFTER  EVERYTHING  ELSE  IS  PAID 

crating  in  the  domain  of  law.  Do  you  not  see,  dear 
brothers  ? 

Dear  brothers,  you  are  hanging  round  on  the 
outside  of  things.  You  are  risking  on  margins.  You 
are  toying  with  fringes  of  the  garment  but  you  do  not 
touch  the  garment.  You  chance  so  much.  You  law 
so  little.  You  think  that  you  will  get  your  man  half 
off  your  back.  That  if  you  can  get  him  to  put  one  foot 
on  the  ground  half  your  burden  will  be  gone.  Half  a 
burden  is  better  than  a  whole  burden.  But  as  long  as 
he  holds  on  you  are  a  victim.  Chance  says  it  is  not 
right  for  all  the  man  to  be  on  your  back.  Law  says  it 
is  wrong  for  any  of  the  man  to  be  on  your  back.  And 
as  long  as  you  appeal  only  to  chance  you  will  be  carry 
ing  some  of  the  man.  The  law  alone  is  your  salvation. 
Chance  is  war.  Law  is  peace.  In  every  case  in  which 
law  comes  up  against  chance  chance  is  licked.  That 
is  why  I  am  always  saying  to  you  :  Quote  the  law. 
Chance  is  always  some  per  cent  against  you.  Law  is 
always  on  your  side.  You  have  played  the  last  play  of 
chance.  You  are  still  a  slave.  Now  play  the  play  of 
law.  The  law  will  play  the  game  into  your  hands.  Do 
you  not  see,  dear  brothers  ? 

AFTER  EVERY-  After  all  other  thought  then  comes 
THING  ELSE  the  thought  of  the  workman.  After 
IS  PAID  all  other  honors  are  paid  his  honors 

are  paid.  We  worry  about  our  yachts.  About  luxur 
ies  for  our  tables  and  our  backs.  About  a  trip  in  sum- 

155 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

mer  and  the  winter's  season  in  town.  And  after  every 
thing  is  worried  about  we  worry  about  the  workman. 
We  make  everything  secure  before  we  make  him  se 
cure.  He  is  postponed  to  the  last  hour.  He  is  put 
off  until  there  is  nothing  else  to  put  him  off  for.  Why 
should  we  take  him  into  account  ?  He  more  than  hon 
ors  every  one  of  our  drafts.  Why  should  we  honor  his  ? 
Indeed,  he  presents  no  drafts.  He  comes  with  his  hat 
off  asking  favors.  And  if  we  have  any  favors  left  after 
we  have  given  favors  everywhere  we  give  what  is  left 
to  him.  We  forget  him  until  we  have  remembered 
every  other  claimant.  He  can  have  the  crumbs.  He 
can  have  the  edges.  After  the  guests  have  left  the  ta 
ble  he  can  come  in  and  make  the  best  of  the  leavings. 
He  sets  the  table.  He  provides  for  the  table.  But  he 
must  not  eat  its  food.  He  would  not  cut  a  pretty  fig 
ure.  His  hands  are  soiled.  His  coat  is  creased.  He 
is  lacking  in  manners.  We  could  not  let  him  mingle 
with  the  elect.  The  elect  derive  all  their  substance 
from  him.  But  for  him  the  elect  would  have  no  time 
or  chance  to  study  their  good  manners.  But  that  makes 
no  difference.  He  is  the  dog.  He  may  bark  outside. 
But  he  must  not  come  in  during  the  feast.  He  has  his 
kennel.  He  is  entitled  to  the  scraps.  He  may  finally 
be  let  in  to  get  them  or  may  wait  in  the  yard  till  they  are 
thrown  to  him.  That  is  the  way  we  pay  our  debt  to 
labor.  Our  first  debt.  The  first  debt  of  all  which  is 
paid  as  the  last  debt  of  all.  Well,  workmen,  how  do 
you  like  it  ?  I  think  you  must  like  it  pretty  well.  You 

156 


AFTER  EVERYTHING  ELSE  IS  PAID 

could  stop  it  any  time.  You  do  not  stop  it.  There 
fore,  you  must  be  satisfied.  When  you  present  your 
bill  it  will  be  paid.  But  as  long  as  you  hold  back  the 
masters  will  not  hunt  you  up.  You  are  afraid  of  your 
own  case.  If  you  present  any  bill  at  all  it  is  only  half 
a  bill  and  it  is  presented  with  an  apology.  But  why 
should  you  not  present  a  bill  in  full  ?  Not  for  wages. 
For  the  next  estate.  For  ownership.  For  freedom. 
For  life.  For  room  to  move.  For  decent  air  to 
breathe.  For  decent  houses  to  live  in.  For  decent 
clothes.  For  less  work  for  your  wives  and  for  your 
selves.  For  chances  for  the  children.  That's  the  kind 
of  bill  to  present.  You  have  had  wages  long  enough. 
Even  fair  wages.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  fair  wages. 
Wages  themselves  are  unfair.  Put  in  the  charge.  Put 
it  in  in  a  loud  voice.  Yes,  with  strong  words.  Do  not 
mind  the  politeness.  That  may  take  care  of  itself  later 
on.  They  will  hear  you.  The  false  guests  will  scatter. 
You  will  take  their  places.  Why  should  you  be  so  in 
fernally  modest  ?  Why  should  you  go  hungry  till  we 
are  fed  ?  Why  should  you  shiver  till  we  are  clothed  ? 
But  for  you  nobody  would  be  taken  care  of.  Why 
should  you  hesitate  then  to  come  in  with  the  first  peo 
ple  to  get  your  share  of  the  universal  bounty  ?  You 
need  it.  It  is  yours.  Take  it.  Do  not  take  it  in  bits. 
Take  the  whole  of  it.  Do  not  allow  any  discounts.  It 
all  belongs  to  you.  Let  nothing  come  between  it  and 
you.  Do  you  not  hear  the  cries  of  your  chiidren  ?  Do 
you  not  hear  the  weeping  of  your  wives  ?  Are  you 

157 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

not  yourselves  weak  from  want  of  food  ?  Do  you  not 
worry  each  night  because  of  next  morning  and  each 
morning  because  of  next  night  ?  Stop  worrying.  Take 
what  belongs  to  you. 

I  have  asked  you  this  question  : 

Why  do  you  let  yourselves  be  thrust  aside  ?  Now  I 
ask  you  another  question  :  Why  do  you  thrust  your 
selves  aside  ?  For  after  all  if  the  masters  pay  all  bills  be 
fore  they  pay  your  bills  it  is  because  you  have  allowed 
yourselves  to  be  superceded.  Why  should  you  have 
masters  anyhow  ?  Why  should  you  stand  aside  and 
allow  the  masters  to  take  the  center  of  the  road  ?  Why 
should  you  get  off  the  sea  for  his  yacht  ?  Why  should 
you  get  off  the  road  to  let  his  carriage  pass  ?  Why 
should  you  take  your  children  out  of  school  in  order  to 
get  the  children  of  the  castes  educated  ?  Look  at  your 
watch.  It  is  getting  pretty  late.  It  is  time  for  you  to 
be  doing  something.  When  your  masters  want  rent 
you  pay.  When  they  want  interest  on  their  money 
you  shake  in  your  boots.  When  they  want  profit  on 
their  goods  you  hand  over  your  last  cent.  Why  do 
you  do  it  ?  The  rent,  the  interest,  the  profit,  are  yours. 
Yet  you  pay  it  to  them.  Are  you  going  to  be  fooled 
forever  ?  You  have  got  so  in  the  habit  of  standing 
aside  that  now  you  stand  aside  for  everything.  The 
masters  collect  their  claims  so  easily  that  they  have  no 
idea  of  moderating  them.  Your  humility  is  their  in 
come.  The  master  cries:  Slave!  and  you  answer: 
Here !  The  master  asks  you  to  abase  yourselves. 

158 


AFTER  EVERYTHING  ELSE  IS  PAID 

You  get  on  your  marrows.  He  does  not  need  to  do  you 
any  injustice.  You  do  yourselves  injustice  enough  to 
save  him  that  trouble.  He  asks  you  to  whip  yourselves 
for  him.  And  you  whip  yourselves.  He  hands  you 
every  weapon  of  oppression.  And  you  oppress  your 
selves.  You  will  yet  learn  to  use  those  weapons  on  the 
right  back.  But  you  are  slow  to  learn.  The  school  is 
bitter.  Your  experience  has  but  one  season.  Winter. 
The  altitude  of  perpetual  snow.  God  knows  I  despise 
you.  God  knows  I  love  you.  I  cry  out  to  you  in  a 
loud  voice.  I  persuade  you  in  a  piteous  voice.  I  take 
you  in  my  arms.  I  try  to  open  your  eyes.  I  hate  you 
with  all  my  hate.  I  love  you  with  all  my  love.  I  want 
to  see  you  grow  as  big  as  yourselves.  I  want  to  see 
you  fair  enough  to  be  fair  to  yourselves.  I  want  to 
wash  you  clean  enough  for  you  to  see  that  the  honest 
dirt  on  your  hands  is  holy.  I  want  to  stop  you  from 
standing  aside  for  other  people.  I  want  to  stop  you 
from  standing  in  the  way  of  other  people.  You  stand 
aside  until  everything  else  is  paid.  I  want  to  see 
everything  else  stand  aside  until  you  are  paid.  Paid  ? 
Yes.  But  not  paid  by  masters.  Paid  by  yourselves. 
No  man  can  have  any  paymaster  but  himself.  Every 
man  may  be  his  own  paymaster  and  payslave.  But  no 
man  will  stand  aside  while  luxury  wastes  the  hallowed 
substance  of  his  work.  That  work  which  is  his  body. 
Which  is  his  soul. 

My  brothers,  you  are  wanting  in 
self-respect.      That   is   what's    the   matter   with   you. 

159 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

When  you  have  the  proper  amount  of  self-respect  you 
will  get  second  to  nobody.  In  this  world,  in  the  work 
of  this  world,  in  the  justice  of  this  world,  there  should 
be  no  seconds.  There  should  be  no  firsts  and  lasts. 
There  should  be  only  souls.  The  world  will  not  be 
made  up  of  workers  and  somebodies  else.  There  will 
be  no  somebodies  else.  The  world  product  will  not  be 
divided  between  profits  and  wages.  When  wages  get 
what  is  due  to  wages  there  will  be  nothing  left  for  ex 
ploitation.  When  will  wages  get  the  due  of  wages  ? 
When  you  come  into  your  self-respect.  When  you 
know  what  is  yours.  When  you  no  longer  apologize 
for  what  is  yours.  My  God  !  Do  you  not  see,  my 
brothers?  The  problem  is  so  simple.  You  are  so 
complex.  I  see  you  picking  ashes  for  coal.  Begging 
for  food.  Beating  down  each  other  for  j  obs.  Looking 
in  upon  comfort  from  the  outside.  Freezing  to  death 
in  winter.  Melting  to  death  in  summer.  Uneducated. 
Possessed  of  work  without  leisure  or  of  leisure  with 
out  work.  Afraid  of  the  days.  Afraid  of  marriage. 
Afraid  even  of  love.  All  this,  brothers  mine.  And 
because  of  what  ?  Because  of  yourselves.  Will  you 
let  this  go  on  any  longer  ?  Swear  that  you  will  not. 
Mirror  yourselves  in  your  self-respect.  Get  a  little 
better  idea  of  your  size  and  shape.  Then  act  as  men 
of  such  size  and  shape  should  act.  Go  to  the  masters 
reciting  a  new  decree.  Refuse  to  be  put  aside  another 
day.  Take  your  places.  Maintain  yourselves  there. 
"Go  to  your  masters,"  I  just  said.  Now  I  say  :  "Go 

16Q 


I  HAVE  A  WORD  TO  SAY  TO  YOU 

to  yourselves."  For  yourselves  are  your  masters  or 
there  are  no  masters.  Let  your  bill  be  the  first  bill  in. 
The  full  bill.  Do  not  budge  until  it  is  paid.  What 
can  be  paid  after  your  bill  is  paid  ?  Nothing.  For 
your  bill  is  the  full  bill  of  life.  The  full  bill  of  the 
soul. 

I  HA  VE  A  WORD  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you,  you 
TO  SA  Y  TO  YOU  who  are  the  masters  and  gentle 
men.  Our  to-day's  yes  is  not  an  eternal  yes.  Our 
to-day's  yes  is  for  to-day.  Tomorrow  will  demand  its 
own  yes.  We  struck.  We  asked  for  more  wages  and 
less  time.  You  said  no.  And  so  we  had  to  fight  you 
for  it.  We  fought.  We  won.  You  had  to  give  us  ten 
per  cent.  You  were  forced  to  acquiesce  in  eight  hours. 
Now  we  are  at  work  again.  Now  we  are  described  as 
being  at  peace.  Do  not  deceive  yourselves.  This  is  not 
peace.  This  is  truce.  Any  per  cent  under  one  hundred 
per  cent  is  truce.  One  hundred  per  cent  alone  is  peace. 
We  have  started  out  on  a  long  journey.  Some  of  us, 
some  of  you,  call  it  a  campaign.  Anyway,  it  is  a  long 
journey.  We  have  got  to  stop  now  and  then  for  rest. 
These  stops  are  truce.  Five  per  cent  is  truce.  The 
five  per  cent  grub  is  not  as  good  as  the  ten  per  cent 
grub.  But  it  is  good  enough  to  keep  body  and  soul 
together.  We  take  what  we  can  get.  We  compromise. 
We  concede.  We  admit.  We  keep  ourselves  in  good 
humor.  But  while  our  bellies  are  fixed  on  the  truce 
our  souls  are  fixed  on  the  peace.  Peace  is  far  ahead. 

161 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

We  see  it  but  dimly.  But  we  see  it.  When  the  eyes 
of  the  flesh  lose  it  the  eyes  of  the  spirit  take  it  up.  It 
shines  brighter  than  any  sun.  It  seems  more  like  mira 
cle  than  any  dream.  But  it  is  there.  We  are  afflicted. 
We  crawl  home  tired  at  night.  But  we  see  the  beacon. 
It  is  way  off.  Lots  of  us  will  go  wrecked  up  the  shore 
before  the  goal  is  reached.  But  what  of  that  ?  The 
sacrifice  is  worth  while.  Nobody  will  go  because  he 
is  afraid  to  go.  Nobody  will  go  because  he  is  anxious 
to  go.  Men  will  go  because  the  light  is  there.  They 
will  go  to  the  light  as  they  go  to  their  meals.  Yes,  as 
they  go  to  their  sleep.  Yes,  as  they  resume  life  when 
morning  comes  again.  That  is  why  they  will  arrive. 
If  the  struggle  could  be  lost  because  men  were  timid 
or  even  because  they  were  heroic  it  would  not  be  lost 
or  won.  Once  off  on  the  road  we  will  not  retreat. 
We  may  occasionally  go  back.  But  going  back  is  not 
retreat.  Policy  may  persuade  us  back.  We  are  often 
most  dangerous  when  we  go  back.  Back  there  is  fresh 
resolution.  Back  there  we  counsel  together  out  of 
your  sight  and  hearing  and  prepare  for  a  greater  ad 
vance.  We  are  not  led  astray  by  false  signs.  Ten  per 
cent  does  not  dissuade.  It  does  not  deceive.  We 
have  eyes  to  see  through  every  ten  per  cent  to  another 
ten.  And  then  we  see  through  all  the  tens  to  the  hun 
dred.  The  hundred  is  the  goal.  We  go  hungry  and 
thirsty  for  the  hundred.  We  die  for  the  hundred. 
You  find  us  all  along  your  highways  starved  and  left 
to  rot.  Do  you  go  to  bed  at  night  confident  that  rot  is 

162 


I  HAVE  A  WORD  TO  SAY  TO  YOU 

defeat  ?  You  left  the  deserted  corpses  on  the  road. 
But  the  idea  is  going  on.  Do  you  think  my  physical 
eyes  are  feasted  on  the  star  of  the  ideal  in  eras  far 
ahead  ?  If  left  to  my  physical  eyes  I  should  have  lost 
my  way  long  ago.  It  is  the  idea  that  sees.  It  is  the 
idea  that  is  seen.  It  is  the  idea  that  gives  truce  for 
truce  but  insists  on  the  final  gage.  The  final  gage  is 
peace.  Peace  is  one  hundred  per  cent. 

This  is  all  very 

vulgar.  It  seems  just  as  if  I  held  a  scale  before  you 
weighing  bellies.  And  you  are  spiritual.  You  ask 
what  wages  have  to  do  with  happiness.  You  ask  what 
wages  have  to  do  with  virtue.  You  ask  what  wages 
have  to  do  with  the  holier  interests  of  the  soul.  True. 
What  have  they  ?  And  if  wealth  has  nothing  to  do  with 
happiness,  virtue  and  the  soul  why  do  you  insist  upon 
appropriating  it  all  ?  If  men  can  get  along  quite  as  well 
without  wealth  as  with  it,  why  do  you  fight  tooth  and 
nail  to  confirm  your  possessions  ?  It  may  not  be  true 
that  the  people  who  make  the  beautiful  things  of  the 
world  should  enjoy  the  privileges  that  result.  But  it 
just  as  certainly  is  not  true  that  people  who  do  nothing 
to  produce  such  miracles  should  rob  the  general  fund. 
It  may  be  better  to  give  than  to  receive.  But  the  re 
ceiver  is  much  too  little  apt  to  remember  that  it  is  bet 
ter  to  give  than  to  receive.  We  drive  home  upon  our 
parasite  a  few  terrible  contrasts.  We  are  reminding 
him  that  it  is  better  to  give  ten  dollars  to  the  man  who 
has  worked  hard  for  them  than  to  receive  one  dollar  for 

163 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

labor  that  has  not  been  performed.  We  are  reminding 
him  by  means  of  accumulating  ten  per  cents  that  enough 
tens  make  a  hundred.  We  are  reminding  him  that  ten 
may  be  truce  but  that  it  takes  the  full  one  hundred  to 
make  peace. 

Now  I  hear  you  ask,  what  is  to  become  of 
you  when  the  one  hundred  goes  to  the  others.  We 
have  thought  that  all  out.  We  have  not  forgotten  you. 
Not  at  all.  You  are  not  to  be  cast  off.  You  are  to  be 
taken  care  of.  Your  minor  classes  are  all  to  be  ab 
sorbed  in  the  one  class.  We  are  going  to  do  better  by 
you  than  you  have  done  by  us.  When  you  found  no 
profit  in  us  you  threw  us  out  in  the  road.  You  con 
signed  us  to  humiliation  and  starvation.  But  there  is 
to  be  no  outside  in  our  philosophy.  You  will  find  that 
done  for  you  which  you  refused  to  do  for  others.  Or, 
rather,  you  will  find  that  done  for  you  which  under 
your  barbarous  system  no  man  found  it  possible  to  do 
for  another.  You  take  up  your  slate  and  convince 
yourself  that  the  hundred  per  cent  crowds  you  out.  It 
crowds  you  out  of  a  place  in  which  you  do  not 
belong.  But  in  crowding  you  out  of  that  place  it 
leaves  you  where  life  can  be  lived  on  more  generous 
terms. 

You  shudder  when  I  speak  of  truce.  Truce 
reminds  you  of  battles  fought  and  battles  to  come. 
Yet  there  are  worse  things  than  truce.  Apathy  is  worse 
than  truce.  Your  peace  is  worse  than  our  truce.  I  do 
not  say  truce  is  the  best  thing.  I  say  it  is  a  better 

164 


I  AM  GOING  TO  LAUGH 

thing.  But  truce  is  only  the  apology.  Peace  is  the 
deed.  We  do  not  ask  each  other  to  be  ten  per  cent  vir 
tuous.  We  ask  each  other  to  be  virtuous.  We  do  not 
always  expect  the  hundred  per  cent.  But  the  hundred 
is  what  we  are  working  towards.  If  you  come  at  me  in 
tending  some  assault  and  I  protest,  how  would  it  sound 
for  you  to  say  :  "  I  will  purify  ten  per  cent  of  my  mo 
tive.  But  the  other  ninety  per  cent  you  will  have  to 
take  in  the  neck"?  I  suppose  I  would  be  forced  to 
submit.  Your  cards  are  stacked.  Your  fists  are  load 
ed.  I  could  only  take  the  deal  and  pay  the  pool.  But 
after  you  had  with  your  pernicious  ninety  per  cent  fist 
wrecked  ninety  per  cent  of  my  collar-bone  the  rest  of 
me  would  resume  the  fight. 

It  is  upon  such  agreements 

that  truce  and  peace  may  come  to  terms.  It  is  in  such 
temper  that  the  ten  per  cents  are  accepted  by  the  hun 
dred.  The  tens  are  sore  from  head  to  foot.  But  their 
sores  are  holy.  The  tens  see  nothing,  hear  nothing, 
but  the  hundred  towards  which  they  journey.  Any  per 
cent  under  one  hundred  per  cent  is  truce.  One  hun 
dred  per  cent  alone  is  peace.  That  is  the  word  I  have 
to  say  to  you,  you  who  are  the  masters  and  gentle 
men. 

I  AM  GOING  I  am  going  to  laugh.  Do  not  misun- 
TO  LA  UGH  derstand  me.  Laugh.  Why  should 
I  make  myself  miserable  fighting  this  fight  ?  Do  you 
think  that  good  humor  is  weakness  ?  Watch  me.  See 

165 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

if  my  good  humor  concedes  anything.  Do  you  not 
know  that  the  fiercest  weapons  are  concealed  in  a  laugh? 
I  have  a  whole  sea  back  of  my  laugh.  And  my  laugh 
will  wreck  all  the  pirates.  I  am  going  to  be  cheerful. 
I  am  going  into  battle  with  a  song  on  my  lips.  That 
will  not  hurt  the  battle.  It  will  help  me.  And  for  the 
purposes  of  this  campaign  I  am  doing  all  I  can  to  help 
myself.  I  can  destroy  ten  thousand  sneers  by  one 
laugh.  A  well  placed  laugh  will  bring  down  the  wall  of 
a  city.  No  iniquity  can  stand  a  righteous  laugh.  Blot 
out  the  sun.  I  will  still  laugh.  And  my  laugh  will 
put  the  sun  in  the  heavens  again.  I  do  not  see  why  I 
should  keep  myself  miserable  trying  to  bring  about 
happiness.  Why  should  I  not  be  happy  in  the  pro 
cess  as  well  as  in  the  result  ?  Yes,  get  some  of  the  re 
sult  into  the  process  ?  Does  it  do  the  result  any  good 
for  me  to  go  about  with  a  lugubrious  visage  ?  I  do  not 
say  that  you  should  wear  a  mask  of  joy.  I  say  you 
should  be  actually  joyful.  I  am.  For  I  see  the  good 
time  coming.  And  I  am  already  borrowing  upon  its 
collateral. 

Come  now.  Why  should  you  bother  with 
grief  ?  You  are  the  owner  of  untold  wealth.  You 
worship  an  ideal.  You  dream  dreams.  You  see  the 
new  world  that  we  are  about  to  enter.  Why  should 
you  confess  judgment  to  sorrow  ?  Let  the  other  fel 
lows  do  that.  Let  that  be  done  by  the  people  who 
think  this  world  is  to  continue  always  to  be  as  it  is. 
Who  do  not  see  the  sunrise.  Who  cannot  see  round 

166 


I  AM  GOING  TO  LAUGH 

any  corners  or  over  any  hills  or  past  any  shadows.  But 
we  on  our  side  may  well  be  in  ecstasy.  We  should  go 
about  our  business  each  day  chanting  hymns.  I  would 
be  ashamed  to  miss  the  significant  optimism  of  my 
faith.  I  would  be  ashamed  to  let  anybody  discover  in 
me  the  least  sign  of  fatigue,  the  least  suspicion  of  de 
spair.  I  shed  no  tears  over  my  work.  Except,  per 
haps,  tears  of  joy.  The  task  I  have  in  hand  is  so  rich 
in  present  dividends  that  I  could  not  doubt  my  invest 
ment.  I  hate  to  see  a  rebel  put  on  a  poor  face.  I  say 
to  such  rebels  :  "  You  belong  in  the  other  camp."  I 
like  to  see  a  rebel  walk  with  a  light  foot.  Yes,  with  a 
heart  as  light  as  his  foot.  Just  as  if  everything  was  to 
come  true  to-morrow.  Just  as  if  everything  had  al 
ready  come  true.  For  to  the  man  with  the  real  stuff  in 
him  the  ideal  is  true  the  minute  it  becomes  his  own. 
No  man  ever  keeps  his  ideal  waiting.  He  catches  up. 
He  keeps  up.  The  real  man  has  no  trouble  in  keep 
ing  up  with  his  ideal.  His  ideal  has  a  lot  of  trouble 
keeping  up  with  him.  He  sings.  He  dances.  He  is 
happy.  Life  comes  to  him  with  full  arms.  Death 
shrinks  away.  Death  hunts  the  apologists.  The  apol 
ogists  are  the  harvest  of  death. 

My  laugh  is  a  challenge. 

It  will  meet  an  iniquity  on  any  terms.  It  will  confute 
that  iniquity.  It  will  send  that  iniquity  home  sore  if 
not  dead.  The  wrongdoers  do  not  always  understand. 
My  laugh  is  uncompromising.  It  demands  its  due. 
It  laughs  out  for  the  last  round.  It  laughs  away  the 

167 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

darling  trinity  of  the  capitalistic  regime.  Rent,  inter 
est,  profit.  It  laughs  away  slavery.  My  laugh  is  a 
question.  It  is  an  accusation.  It  is  a  conscience.  It 
is  that  something  which  disturbs  your  sleep  at  night 
and  worries  your  wake  by  day.  For  all  its  noncha 
lance  its  concern  tingles  you  at  the  roots.  As  sap  is  to 
a  tree,  as  blood  is  to  the  body,  so  is  my  laugh  to  my 
faith.  Men  come  to  me  wondering  if  my  laugh  is 
dangerous.  They  find  it  barbed.  They  find  it  an 
uncomfortable  neighbor.  They  discover  that  it  is  a 
searching  and  inexorable  critic.  I  sat  down  and  cried 
and  the  evil  went  on.  I  got  up  and  laughed  and  the 
evil  hurried  away.  I  can  afford  to  laugh.  Laugh  is 
not  money  in  my  pocket  but  it  is  light  in  my  soul. 
Weeping  made  me  weak.  Laughing  made  me  strong. 
I  laugh  private  property  to  scorn.  I  laugh  the  million 
aires  out  of  their  increments.  I  laugh  the  workmen 
out  of  their  lethargy.  My  laugh  is  the  last  fact  I  treat 
with  when  I  go  to  bed  and  the  first  I  deal  with  when  I 
get  up.  I  may  lose  other  assets.  But  I  will  keep  my 
laugh.  You  may  have  everything  else  if  you  will  leave 
that.  I  want  to  show  that  my  laugh  is  bigger  than 
Rockefeller.  Bigger  than  any  single  man.  Bigger  than 
any  single  interest.  Just  as  big  as  all  men  put  together. 
Just  as  big  as  all  interests  put  into  one.  1  think  some 
how  that  the  whole  material  stuff  of  the  universe  is  small 
er  than  my  laugh.  I  think  somehow  that  my  laugh  was 
made  to  teach  the  material  things  a  lesson.  For  my 
laugh  is  the  soul  of  man  made  manifest  in  the  destiny 

168 


I  AM  GOING  TO  LAUGH 

of  his  love.  My  laugh  will  outlast  all  economic  tyr 
anny  and  social  stratagem.  All  slaved  children  and 
starved  parents.  All  wagemen  and  tollmen.  Weak? 
Is  gravitation  weak?  Is  flame  weak  when  in  the  fire? 
Is  water  weak  in  the  flood?  Weak?  The  sword 
might  be  easy.  The  bullet  might  be  a  mercy.  But  my 
laugh  will  try  you  to  the  end. 

I  had  a  choice  of  weap 
ons.  I  chose  the  laugh.  Laughter  can  do  all  that 
weeping  can  do  and  can  then  do  more.  I  do  not  choose 
to  be  cheerful  because  cheerfulness  is  a  gentle  weapon. 
No  indeed.  Because  cheerfulness  is  the  sternest  weap 
on.  The  enemy  might  survive  my  gravity.  But  the 
enemy  will  never  survive  my  laugh.  He  might  sneak 
away  from  my  vituperation.  But  my  laugh  guards 
every  path  of  escape.  When  my  laughter  has  said  its 
say  the  whole  story  is  told.  I  had  a  choice  of  weapons. 
I  chose  cheer.  Cheer  accounts  for  so  much  more  than 
depression.  Cheer  is  so  inevitable.  It  appoints  such 
inflexible  alternatives.  It  cavorts  about  in  such  eternal 
youth.  Cheer  never  suffers  from  sore  feet.  It  knows 
no  old  age.  It  is  never  reminiscent.  Cheer  is  always 
pledged  to  to-day  and  to-morrow.  Villainy  may  not 
keep  its  engagements  with  solemnity.  But  it  never 
tries  to  escape  my  laugh.  Cheer  is  philosophy.  It 
foregoes  little  effects  for  big.  I  see  that  the  privateers 
disdain  your  tearful  chase.  But  if  you  watch  you  will 
learn  that  they  respect  my  laughing  summons  of  surren 
der.  Do  you  know,  a  laugh  gets  into  the  muscle  of 

169 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

your  arm.  It  pours  along  in  your  veins.  It  enriches 
your  capacity  for  thought.  It  gives  your  love  its  crown 
ing  efficacy.  Just  a  laugh.  Just  a  song.  Just  cheer 
at  the  right  time  and  at  the  wrong  time.  Nothing  can 
refute  my  laugh.  Nothing  can  disconcert  its  imper 
turbable  affirmations.  When  I  came  to  the  parting  of 
the  roads  I  chose  for  cheer.  The  sun  has  been  in  my 
path  ever  since.  And  I  can  see  heaven  ahead.  Jus 
tice.  All  men  with  plenty  and  no  man  with  too  much. 
Cheer.  Laughter.  My  laugh.  Laugh  with  the  best 
hate.  Laugh  with  the  best  love.  No  good  thing  need 
be  afraid  of  this  laugh.  But  if  there  is  any  lurking  so 
cial  wrong  which  thinks  it  can  by  cant  or  by  chicanery 
escape  my  laugh  let  it  beware.  I  am  close  upon  it.  I 
quote  no  useless  texts.  I  strike  no  useless  blows.  I 
offer  no  useless  apologies.  I  just  laugh.  Laugh  the 
world  justice  for  its  inhumanity.  Laugh  the  world 
harmony  for  its  discord.  We  talk  of  God.  I  think 
my  laugh  and  God  must  be  the  same  thing.  Or  if 
they  are  not  the  same  thing  then  all  the  worse  for  God. 
I  am  going  to  laugh. 

WE  A  T  CAN  What  can  I  do  ?  I  can  talk  out  when 
I  DO  ?  others  are  silent.  I  can  say  man  when 

others  say  money.  I  can  stay  up  when  others  are 
asleep.  I  can  keep  on  working  when  others  have 
stopped  to  play.  I  can  give  life  big  meanings  when 
others  give  life  little  meanings.  I  can  say  love  when 
others  say  hate.  I  can  say  every  man  when  others  say 

170 


WHAT  CAN  I  DO? 

one  man.  I  can  try  events  by  a  hard  test  when  others 
try  it  by  an  easy  test. 

What  can  I  do  ?     I   can  give 

myself  to  life  when  other  men  refuse  themselves  to  life. 
My  privileges  are  never  cut  off  unless  I  cut  them  off. 
My  faith  is  never  discounted  until  I  quote  it  low. 
What  can  I  do  ?  I  can  stop  looking  at  other  people 
and  look  awhile  at  myself.  I  can  say  loss  when  you 
say  profit.  I  can  say  freedom  when  you  say  landlord. 
I  can  say  principal  when  you  say  interest.  I  can  do 
my  best  while  others  do  their  worst.  I  can  live  nearer 
myself  while  the  others  live  farther  from  themselves. 
I  can  fight  on  while  others  surrender. 

What  can  I  do  ? 

I  can  get  myself  into  touch  with  my  ideas.  I  can 
gather  the  fragments  of  my  life  together  into  one  co 
herent  life.  I  can  take  sides  with  the  poor.  I  can 
build  on  simplicity.  I  can  let  others  wear  broadcloth 
while  I  wear  rags.  I  can  refuse  to  condone  my  own 
sins.  What  can  I  do  ?  Believe  in  man.  Go  without 
income.  Walk  on  my  uppers.  Give  life  one  hundred 
per  cent  of  myself.  Not  care  first  what  other  people 
think  of  me.  Care  first  what  I  think  of  myself.  Not 
declare  against  the  sins  of  the  world  and  go  on  sinning. 
Stop  sinning.  Give  up  property  for  people.  Not 
stake  my  private  interest  against  the  total  human  inter 
est.  Not  be  afraid  of  slander.  Not  feel  bad  when  I 
am  misunderstood.  Expect  to  find  all  my  neighbors 
arrayed  against  me.  Remain  contented  when  no  one 

171 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

will  come  near  me.     I  can  starve.     I  can  die.     That  is 
what  I  can  do. 

What  can  I  do  ?  I  have  told  you. 
And  now  you  say  I  call  upon  myself,  I  call  upon  you, 
to  do  impossible  things.  You  are  wrong.  You  asked 
me  what  I  can  do.  You  did  not  ask  me  what  I  will  do. 
I  may  do  nothing  to  fulfil  my  program.  I  may  do 
nothing  to  justify  my  philosophy.  But  the  program 
and  the  philosophy  remain  as  redoubtable  as  before. 
The  spirit  will  succeed  though  the  flesh  may  fail.  I 
say  .that  property  destroys  but  '•:,  jple  save.  That 
your  private  virtue  is  useless  in  a  world  of  isolated  men. 
That  the  last  slave  will  not  disappear  till  the  last  owner 
dies.  •  That  proprietorship  and  poverty  go  hand  in 
hand.  That  I  would  rather  live  in  a  poor  world  with 
justice  than  in  a  rich  world  with  wrong.  I  say  all  these 
things.  But  suppose  I  do  none  of  them  ?  Suppose  I 
let  them  all  pass  for  words  ?  Suppose  I  just  keep  on 
trying  to  have  a  good  time?  Looking  for  ease. 
Making  my  peace  with  the  dreary  round  of  present 
greed.  Playing  all  life  down  instead  of  up.  Regard 
ing  with  nonchalance  the  suffering  of  the  dispossessed. 
Forgetting  the  hut  as  long  as  I  can  maintain  myself  in 
the  palace.  What  am  I  to  say  to  myself  then  ?  What 
account  can  I  give  of  myself  when  my  soul  is  through 
with  talk  ?  I  can  talk  big  any  time.  But  can  I  live 
big  ?  I  can  talk  against  profit.  But  can  I  live  against 
profit?  It  is  easy  for  me  to  put  my  faith  into  words. 
But  is  it  easy  for  me  to  put  it  into  deeds  ?  I  do  not 

172 


WHAT  CAN  I  DO? 

find  it  difficult  to  make  a  show.  But  I  do  find  it  diffi 
cult  to  translate  language  into  life.  I  may  be  able  to 
do  great  things  while  the  world  looks  on  and  applauds. 
But  what  can  I  do  while  the  world  looking  on  does  not 
applaud  or  does  not  look  on  at  all  ?  I  can  do  miracles 
when  you  love  me.  But  what  can  I  do  when  you  hate 
me  ?  What  can  I  do  ?  I  can^place  myself  on  the  spot 
where  no  other  man  will  place  himself.  I  can  take 
risks  while  other  men  huddle  in  shelter.  You  say  you 
can  love  justice  when  the  weather  is  good.  Can  you 
love  justice  when  the  weather  is  bad  ?  I  do  not  know 
what  I  can  do.  But  I  know  what  I  want  to  do  and 
what  I  can  try  to  do. 

What  can  I  do  ?     I  can  make  a 

bluff  to  be  faithful.  I  can  keep  the  standard  up.  I 
can  talk  out  in  company  when  it  is  fashionable  to  be 
quiet.  I  can  consent  to  be  a  bore.  I  can  do  disagree- 
ble  things.  I  can  learn  to  say  no.  I  can  bear  with 
equanimity  to  have  people  point  at  me  in  the  streets 
as  a  dangerous  outlaw.  I  can  throw  away  every  shred 
of  reputation  in  order  to  keep  every  shred  of  character. 
My  voice  may  outcry  the  noise  of  the  farthest  wrong. 
My  daily  life  may  be  consecrated  to  fraternity.  What 
can  I  do  ?  I  can  perhaps  do  nothing  to  straighten  out 
other  men.  But  I  can  do  everything  to  straighten  out 
myself.  I  can  square  myself  with  private  property  by 
abolishing  it.  I  can  square  myself  with  the  law  of  the 
individual  by  squaring  myself  with  the  law  of  the  mass. 
Why  should  I  hope  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  social 

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CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

plenty  ?  Why  should  1  not  shrink  into  the  shadow  of 
social  sacrifice  ?  I  have  tried  to  take  care  of  myself  by 
not  taking  care  of  others.  Why  should  I  not  learn  to 
take  care  of  myself  by  taking  care  of  others  ?  Are  the 
lessons  of  my  real  self  too  hard  to  learn  ?  Am  I  to 
grovel  in  the  dust  and  confess  against  my  faith  ?  Am 
I  to  live  in  the  surfeit  of  honest  starvation  or  die  in  the 
emptiness  of  a  dishonest  surplus  ?  Am  I  to  measure 
myself  with  my  littlest  opportunity  or  with  my  biggest 
opportunity  ?  What  can  I  do  ?  Can  I  do  only  the 
things  that  affect  my  personal  life  ?  Can  I  not  do  the 
things  which  contribute  to  the  general  life  ?  Am  I  to 
timidly  hug  the  shore  when  so  much  remains  to  be  done 
out  in  the  stream  ?  What  can  I  do  ?  Take  chances. 
Go  where  it  calls  upon  a  man's  best  art  to  brave  the  dead 
ly  issues  of  the  destroyer.  Tire.  Without  food.  Work 
without  stop.  Fight.  Die.  Is  that  too  much  ?  You 
ask  me  what  I  can  do.  Why  can  I  not  do  that  ?  Other 
men  have  done  it.  For  less  reason,  too.  Why  should 
I  not  do  it?  Am  I  always  to  shield  myself  behind 
shortages  and  forfeits  ?  Am  I  to  skulk  with  fine 
words  ?  When  I  get  to  heaven  will  graceful  phrases 
save  me  ?  When  I  get  to  hell  will  decent  conduct 
damn  me  ?  What  is  all  life  for  if  not  for  death  when 
death  is  honorable  ?  What  is  all  death  for  if  not  for 
life  when  life  is  necessary  ?  Steady.  Now's  for  your 
nerve.  Back  of  you  the  whole  race  pushes.  Make  no 
mistake.  Treachery  now  may  poison  the  issues  of  his 
tory.  The  lords  are  all  there  in  front  of  you.  The 

174 


WILL  YOU  BE  READY? 

lords  of  money.  The  lords  of  land.  The  lords  of 
official  power.  The  lords  of  luxury.  The  lords  ma 
lignant  of  the  regime  we  are  to  obliterate.  Steady. 
No  quibble  now.  No  compromise  now.  No  com 
promise  with  the  enemy.  Most  of  all  no  compromise 
with  yourself.  Steady.  Steady.  What  can  I  do  ? 
What  can  you  do  ?  Look  at  the  gathered  forces  of 
trespass.  Do  you  not  see  what  you  can  do  ?  Do  I 
not  see  what  I  can  do  ? 

WILL  YO  U  BE  Will  you  be  ready  ?  When  the  hour 
READY?  strikes  will  you  hear?  Will  you  be 

on  the  right  spot  ?  Will  you  be  there  in  your  own  best 
mood  ?  What  have  you  done  to  prepare  yourself  for 
the  crisis  ?  If  danger  appeared.  And  if  the  responsi 
bility  fell  upon  you.  Would  you  be  equal  to  it  ?  You 
say  you  leave  that  to  the  great  ?  That  you  are  to  serve 
in  the  ranks  ?  Do  not  abdicate.  You  yourself  may  be 
the  great.  Suppose  you  are  found  upon  the  crisis  line 
at  the  august  moment  ?  Are  you  to  tell  the  crisis  to 
wait  while  you  go  hunting  for  a  deliverer  ?  I  do  not 
care  who  you  are.  I  call  upon  you  to  prepare  yourself 
for  greatness.  I  say  that  the  appeal  may  come  straight 
to  you.  You  dare  not  default.  And  it  may  come  any 
minute  you  live.  It  is  your  business  to  be  within  call. 
It  is  your  business  to  be  equiped.  Crises  do  not  have 
a  habit  of  looking  round  for  heroes.  They  happen 
when  and  where  they  choose.  And  the  man  who  is  in 
the  way  of  the  task  gets  it  to  do.  And  if  you  are  the 

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CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

right  man  when  the  task  comes  you  do  it  the  right  way. 
And  if  you  are  the  wrong  man  you  do  it  the  wrong 
way.  And  I  know  your  faith.  And  I  know  you  want 
to  be  the  right  man.  And  so  I  warn  you.  For  I  see 
signal  fires  burning  everywhere  on  every  hilltop.  And 
I  know  that  you  may  any  time,  in  your  work  or  in  your 
play,  be  called  upon  to  acquit  yourself  of  this  solemn 
responsibility.  So  I  say  to  you :  Be  ready.  Do  not 
waste  a  single  minute.  But  be  ready.  For  the  lords 
god,  your  brothers  in  distress,  may  call.  And  when 
they  call  you  must  answer  them  according  to  their 
need. 

I  am  much  less  bothered  when  I  find  another 
man  guilty  than  when  I  find  myself  guilty.  What  have 
I  done  to  prepare  for  the  resurrection  ?  With  what 
personal  power  am  I  to  meet  the  new  life  ?  Am  I  to 
go  to  it  rich  ?  Or  am  I  to  go  to  it  a  pauper  ?  Am  I 
to  go  to  it  with  gifts  or  go  to  it  soliciting  alms  ?  If  the 
crisis  came  to-morrow  in  what  condition  would  I  be  to 
meet  it  ?  The  old  theologians  used  to  tell  us  we  should 
be  always  ready  to  die.  I  say  so,  too.  I  say  more  than 
that.  I  say  we  should  always  be  ready  to  live.  Are 
we  ready  without  even  a  moment's  notice  to  live  ?  Not 
live  for  ourselves.  Live  for  our  fellows.  For  under 
the  new  dispensation  no  man  may  arrange  to  live  his 
life  alone.  Lives  must  be  lived  together  or  not  be 
lived  at  all.  A  life  lived  all  alone  is  barren.  How  near 
ready  are  you  for  the  communal  life  ?  For  the  life  of 
obscure  service  ?  For  the  life  of  average  greatness  ? 

176 


WILL  YOU  BE  READY? 

Could  you  live  that  life  to-morrow  if  called  upon  to  do 
so  ?  Or  would  you  still  need  your  great  men  ?  You 
have  your  great  men  to-day.  What  are  they  doing  for 
you  ?  Why  should  you  expect  them  to  do  more  for 
you  in  the  future  ?  Every  man  must  be  his  own  great 
man.  Will  you  still  lean  upon  exceptions  ?  Will  you 
still  rely  upon  masters  ?  Do  you  still  intend  to  submit 
your  fate  to  administrators  and  authorities  ?  Do  you 
not  possess  within  yourself  the  flame  of  a  beatific  life  ? 
Are  you  feeding  that  flame  ?  Are  you  husbanding  the 
treasures  which  in  the  turning  point  of  battle,  in  the 
crucial  hour  of  peace,  would  enable  you  to  do  men  jus 
tice  if  their  call  was  addressed  to  you  ?  For  you  must 
know  that  the  signal  of  distress  is  as  likely  to  be  flashed 
your  way  as  any  other.  I  wonder  when  I  see  you 
wasting  time.  I  wonder  when  I  hear  you  calling  your 
enemy  hard  names.  I  wonder  why  you  do  not  save 
all  that  energy.  I  think  you  will  need  it  all  to  get  you 
ready.  God  is  very  well.  Religion  is  very  well.  But 
getting  ready  is  also  well.  Perhaps  better.  Perhaps 
the  very  God  you  worship  and  the  very  religion  you 
proclaim  could  best  be  worshiped  and  proclaimed  in 
getting  ready  for  the  sacred  tryst. 

You  have  got  so  in 

the  habit  of  serving  under  masters.  You  have  been 
the  subjects  of  kings  so  long.  And  of  parliaments  and 
presidents.  And  you  have  such  false  awe  of  profes 
sional  men.  Of  men  who  talk  and  write.  Of  the 
merely  ornamental  arbiters  of  social  values.  That  you 

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CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

imagine  that  when  you  pass  over  the  border  into  the 
new  life  the  leaders  and  professors  will  migrate  with 
you.  That  you  will  still  be  compelled  to  look  to  them 
for  the  articles  of  social  federation.  You  deify  leader 
ship.  You  are  afraid  to  think  of  heaven  as  a  democ 
racy.  How  can  any  place  or  event  conditioned  upon  a 
ruler  and  upon  rules  be  heaven  ?  How  can  you  have 
a  social  democracy  dependent  upon  exceptional  leaders 
for  its  existence  ?  I  do  not  care  who  you  are.  You  are 
the  chosen  man.  If  you  are  not  the  chosen  man  then 
no  man  is  chosen.  All  history  is  made  to  keep  an  ap 
pointment  with  you.  If  you  refuse  to  keep  the  ap 
pointment  or  come  to  it  unprepared  history  will  con 
fess  bankruptcy  and  the  social  paradise  will  remain  in 
complete.  Everything  depends  upon  you.  You  are 
your  own  Atlas.  Upon  your  shoulders  the  social  com 
monwealth  must  rest.  Upon  yours  alone  ?  Upon  your 
shoulders  as  much  as  upon  any.  I  do  not  believe  you 
realize  the  magnitude  of  your  task.  I  make  you  the 
target  of  my  reproach  and  my  appeal.  If  you  heard 
the  summons  this  minute  would  you  be  ready  to  an 
swer  it  ?  Not  answer  it  as  a  follower  to  a  leader.  But 
answer  it  as  one  man  in  the  ranks  to  another  man  in  the 
ranks.  Answer  it  in  competent  deeds.  For  when  you 
cast  off  upon  that  untried  sea  you  will  sail  without  a 
master.  You  will  have  your  chart.  But  you  will  go 
without  orders.  You  will  have  no  commanders  to  tell 
you  what  to  do.  You  will  be  expected  to  know  what 
to  do  without  whip  or  spur.  Will  you  be  ready  ?  Are 

178 


I  WANT  TO  BE  COUNTED 

you  making  the  most  of  the  present  in  the  interest  of 
the  future  ?  Are  you  stiffening  your  courage  ?  Are 
you  ripening  your  wisdom  ?  Are  you  better  equiped 
to-day  than  you  were  yesterday  ?  Will  you  be  still 
better  equiped  to-morrow  ?  Is  your  lamp  filled  with 
oil  ?  Is  your  brain  filled  with  ideas  ?  Is  your  heart 
filled  with  love  ?  When  the  fateful  day  comes  there 
will  be  no  time  to  run  for  crutches  or  for  asking  or  an 
swering  questions.  All  your  schooling  must  be  got 
now.  You  have  dreamed  of  a  world  without  masters. 
The  only  substitute  for  a  world  with  a  master  is  a  world 
in  which  every  man  is  his  own  master.  Are  you  your 
own  master  ?  When  you  hear  the  voice  will  you  ex 
claim  in  alarm  :  "  Wait :  I  cannot  see  my  way  !  "  Or 
will  you  instantly  respond  in  alert  tones :  "  I  am  here 
and  ready  and  know  what  to  do"  ? 

/  WANT  TO  1  want  to  be  counted.  I  do  not 
BE  COUNTED  want  to  stand  out  from  the  rest.  I 
am  willing  and  glad  to  remain  in  the  crowd.  I  am  will 
ing  to  serve  and  for  no  one  to  know  me.  The  hum 
blest  job  in  the  cause  is  not  too  proud  a  job  for  me. 
The  proudest  job  in  the  cause  is  not  too  humble  a  job 
for  me.  Here  I  stand.  I  am  ready.  I  want  to  be 
counted.  Come  early  or  come  late  I  shall  hear  the 
call.  You  may  raise  your  voice  in  my  hardest  sleep 
and  it  will  arouse  me.  Or  in  the  blare  of  the  boister 
ous  day  and  it  will  single  me  out.  God  is  not  way  off 
somewhere  waiting  to  be  worshiped.  God  is  in  the 

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CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

cause.  And  in  the  cause  I  worship  God.  The  count 
ers  are  abroad.  They  go  their  rounds  solemnly  enroll 
ing  their  allies.  I  want  to  be  counted. 

Do  you  think 

you  would  like  to  be  left  out?  Do  you  think  you 
would  like  the  list  all  made  up  without  your  name  ? 
We  are  all  alike.  We  are  sauced  bad  and  good.  We 
are  as  beautiful  as  a  beautiful  idea  of  God  and  as  ugly 
as  an  ugly  idea  of  Devil.  But  in  spite  of  our  criss 
cross  each  man  may  count  one.  I  do  not  want  to  count 
more  than  one.  But  I  want  to  count  all  of  one.  And 
I  want  that  one  to  be  significant.  I  want  that  one  to 
enjoy  the  full  distinction  of  its  universal  office.  I  can 
make  my  one  mean  or  I  can  make  it  sacred.  I  can 
make  it  a  sunburst.  I  can  make  it  an  eclipse.  It  is 
up  to  me  to  make  it  conserve  the  noblest  impulse. 
Why  should  I  quote  myself  at  the  lowest  figure  ?  That 
is  not  modesty.  It  is  default.  I  must  rate  myself 
high.  I  must  make  my  rating  good.  I  want  to  be 
counted.  I  want  to  achieve  the  victory  of  that  sublime 
classification.  I  do  not  want  my  name  at  the  head  of 
the  list.  I  am  satisfied  to  have  it  come  anywhere  on 
the  list.  Only  I  want  it  on  the  list.  I  want  to  figure 
in  the  assets  of  the  world's  love.  Life  is  a  failure  when 
it  is  quoted  anywhere  else.  I  do  not  want  to  be  quoted 
as  dead  at  the  root.  I  want  to  be  alive  all  over.  And 
then  counted.  Counted  in  the  assets  of  love. 

Where 
do  you  belong,  dear  brother  ?     Are  you  counted  for 

180 


I  WANT  TO  BE  COUNTED 

love  ?  Are  you  an  enfranchised  being  awakened  to  the 
divinity  of  the  figure  one  ?  Or  are  you  still  bound  to 
a  stake  and  ciphered  in  the  nothingness  of  an  indiffer 
ent  heart?  I  think  you,  too,  want  to  be  counted. 
Counted  for  the  children  of  the  next  frost.  Counted 
for  the  largest  faith.  Counted  for,  not  against,  the  race. 
Counted  on  the  side  of  things  that  move  on.  Not 
counted  on  the  side  of  things  that  stand  still.  Counted 
for  the  oppressed.  Counted  for  the  general  joy. 
Counted  for  enlargement.  Not  counted  for  degenera 
tion.  What  does  life  amount  to  if  it  betrays  life  ? 
What  does  life  amount  to  when  scheduled  for  retreat  ? 
The  issue  is  here.  You  must  go  ahead  or  go  back. 
You  cannot  stay  where  you  are.  You  have  got  to  make 
up  your  mind  and  venture  out  upon  the  historic  cur 
rent.  Man  is  taking  account  of  hearts.  Is  your  heart 
to  be  counted  ?  Is  your  will  to  be  given  to  decadence? 
To  be  pieced  out,  one  piece  for  folly  and  one  for  faith? 
Or  is  your  will  to  be  one  will  anointed  for  the  temple  ? 
If  you  cannot  count  one  what  can  you  count  ?  You  are 
void.  You  have  brought  yourself  as  an  empty  vessel 
to  the  feast  of  the  future.  You  have  violated  the  cov 
enant.  Are  you  to  be  only  a  fraction  hovering  on  the 
margins  of  performance  ?  Are  you  to  stand  by  and 
see  all  things  done  and  you  to  do  nothing  ?  Are  you 
willing  to  have  this  crisis  come  and  you  slink  away 
somewhere  in  some  shadow  waiting  for  the  storm  to 
blow  over  ?  Rather  be  counted  for  reaction.  Rather 
be  against  the  new  world.  Rather  go  bravely  back  than 

181 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

stand  still  like  a  weakling  or  sneak  away  like  a  coward. 
But  as  for  me,  count  me  in  the  rebel  advance.  Let  me 
pioneer  with  the  new  day.  Let  me  keep  on  with  the 
stream.  Let  me  be  an  atom  of  the  plainest  earth.  Let 
me  be  a  drop  of  the  commonest  water.  Let  me  be 
an  unseen  star  somewhere  in  space.  But  let  me  be 
counted. 

I  do  not  know  the  next  turn  of  the  road. 
But  I  know  we  are  near  by.  And  I  know  that  when 
we  make  the  turn  we  will  see  the  light.  And  I  intend 
to  keep  in  with  the  crowd.  My  feet  may  be  sore. 
My  eyelids  may  be  heavy.  I  may  be  tempted  to  give 
up.  But  I  will  stick  to  the  pilgrim  crowd.  I  know 
there  are  lures  in  the  life  we  are  leaving.  But  I  know 
there  is  justice  in  the  life  ahead.  We  lived  the  life  of 
yesterday  for  a  few.  We  will  live  the  life  of  to-morrow 
for  all.  We  lived  the  life  of  yesterday  for  property. 
We  will  live  the  life  of  to-morrow  for  man.  We  are 
not  asking  for  more  food  and  clothes.  We  are  asking 
for  more  life.  Life  is  what  we  want.  Life  full  of  life 
until  it  overflows  with  life.  If  we  need  food  to  help  us 
to  get  life  then  we  will  have  food.  But  life  is  what  we 
want.  Life  for  all.  Every  cup  full.  No  one  left 
to  thirst  with  a  deficit.  I  want  to  be  counted  for 
life. 

What  will  give  us  life  ?  You  do  not  think  money 
will  give  life  ?  Or  private  property  ?  Or  anything 
which  gives  life  for  a  consideration?  Life  must  be  a 
free  gift.  The  gift  of  the  whole  to  the  whole.  The 

182 


YOU  WILL  SAY  IT  TO  YOURSELF 

gift  of  all  to  all.  Life  belongs  to  all.  Scamp  and  saint  ? 
There  is  enough  of  the  best  life  for  all.  I  expect  life  to 
retrieve  life.  I  expect  under  the  new  arrangement  to 
see  the  ranks  intact.  The  celestial  laggards  will  all 
catch  up.  The  stomachs  will  catch  up  with  food.  The 
brain  will  catch  up  with  thought.  The  soul  will  catch 
up  with  dream.  No  man  will  go  ahead  at  the  expense 
of  the  rest.  The  man  who  goes  ahead  will  go  ahead 
by  the  free  will  and  as  the  delegate  of  the  rest.  He 
will  not  increase  his  estate.  He  will  broaden  the  acres 
of  hi.:  sympathy.  But  there  are  some  terrestrial  things 
that  will  never  catch  up.  The  interests  will  not  catch 
up.  The  profits  will  not  catch  up.  The  landlord  will 
not  catch  up.  The  deeds,  the  mortgages,  the  liens,  the 
buyings,  the  sellings,  will  not  catch  up.  I  see  the  chase. 
I  see  the  dark  road.  I  know  we  grope  and  stumble 
and  are  tired.  But  we  grope  knowing  we  are  to  touch 
something.  We  stumble  to  get  up  again.  We  tire 
only  to  rest  and  rest  only  to  start  once  more.  And  we 
are  almost  at  the  turn  of  the  road.  And  when  we  reach 
the  turn  we  reach  the  light.  And  that  is  why  I  want 
to  be  counted. 

YOU  WILL  SAY  You  will  say  it  to  yourself. 
IT  TO  YOURSELF  You  resent  my  words.  You 
turn  round  and  walk  away.  You  lock  your  safe.  You 
snuggle  a  balance  in  bank.  You  regard  your  store  with 
royal  overlordship.  What  is  your  own  you  will  fight 
for.  Is  your  property  not  your  own  ?  I  come  to  you 

183 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

as  a  threat.  When  I  come  everything  is  in  danger. 
Values  shiver.  Possession  gets  down  in  the  mouth. 
I  know  all  about  it.  I  do  not  blame  you  for  your 
trepidation.  For  if  I  do  mean  anything  I  do  mean 
some  of  the  things  that  you  fear.  But  you  have  yet  to 
learn  that  you  do  not  need  to  fear.  That  I  do  not 
come  to  unsettle  values  but  to  settle  them.  That  val 
ues  are  unsettled  to-day.  That  I  will  settle  them.  But 
you  do  not  see  this  now.  So  you  take  me  not  as  an 
inspiration  but  a  menace.  I  give  you  fair  notice  that 
you  are  right.  I  also  give  you  the  fairer  intimation 
that  you  are  wrong.  You  are  right  when  you  recognize 
me.  You  are  wrong  when  you  fear  me. 

I  am  not  going 

to  shut  up.  I  am  going  to  talk  on  and  live  on  and  be 
still  on  from  forever  to  forever.  But  I  do  not  expect 
to  convince  you.  I  am  only  going  to  help  you  to  con 
vince  yourself.  I  am  saying  disagreeable  things.  I 
see  easily  enough  that  I  am  not  liked  in  certain  circles. 
That  when  profit  wants  things  its  own  way  I  am  not 
pleasant  to  have  about.  That  interest  hates  to  see  me 
coming.  That  rent  scowls  and  deepens  its  thrust. 
That  the  proud  vested  tyrannies  of  the  world  meet 
me  with  angry  gaze.  But  1  keep  on  good  terms 
with  myself.  I  am  always  smiling  upon  myself.  Al 
ways  encouraging  myself.  And  that  is  all  I  need. 
And  though  my  enemies  give  me  a  sharp  tussle  and 
think  they  have  thrown  me  I  inevitably  turn  up  the 
next  day  as  strong  as  usual.  Yes.  And  with  the  same 

184 


YOU  WILL  SAY  IT  TO  YOURSELF 

questions.  And  with  the  same  answers.  Answers  my 
own  to-day.  Answers  to  be  yours  to-morrow.  Do 
you  not  see  that  a  man  with  this  kind  of  faith  can  wait? 
My  faith  has  no  hunger  which  it  cannot  itself  feed. 
No  weakness  which  it  cannot  itself  repair.  So  it  can 
wait.  My  faith  can  wait.  I  can  wait.  And  say  and 
say  again  and  say  once  more  all  the  disagreeable  words. 
The  devil  words  to-day  that  become  the  divine  words 
to-morrow.  The  words  you  hate  to  hear.  The  words 
you  forbid.  That  you  try  to  put  into  jails  and  give  to 
the  hangman.  That  visit  you  any  time  and  any  where 
on  whatever  untoward  occasions.  When  you  are 
preaching  a  false  sermon.  Or  praying  a  mocking 
prayer.  Or  writing  an  editorial  bought  and  paid  for. 
Or  singing  a  song  for  a  patron.  The  words  I  am  left 
to  say  to-day.  The  words  you  will  be  glad  to  say 
hereafter. 

You  will  long  resist  me.  You  will  deceive 
yourself  with  initial  victories.  You  will  find  me  weak. 
You  will  count  me  only  one  against  a  million.  You 
will  see  the  world  seem  to  go  on  just  as  it  is.  One  day 
confirming  another.  One  injustice  confirming  another. 
Presidents  succeeding  Presidents  in  unvarying  medioc 
rity.  Millionaires  dead  reborn  in  millionaire  children. 
Starvation  handing  starvation  on.  The  people  inno 
cently  played  against  the  people.  Demand  and  supply 
cohabited  for  the  production  of  a  blind  progeny.  The 
landlord  suborning  the  land.  The  moneylord  suborn 
ing  money.  The  storelord  suborning  production.  All 

185 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

will  seem  to  go  on  just  as  it  is.  And  you  who  resist 
me  will  be  fooled.  You  will  say  the  universe  is  against 
me.  You  will  say  I  am  cursed.  Or  you  will  in  your 
tenderer  moments  ask :  What's  the  use  ?  But  all  this 
time  I  will  be  keeping  on.  Doing  nothing  unusual. 
Only  keeping  on.  Asleep  or  awake,  keeping  on. 
Compelled  to  say  the  say  of  justice  all  by  myself. 
Willing  to  wait  until  you  are  shaken  up  and  convinced. 
Until  you  will  say  it  to  yourself.  And  say  it  to  your 
self  you  will. 

There  are  things  ahead  that  will  stir  you 
out  of  your  indifference  or  lethargy  or  doubt.  Give 
you  an  immortal  awakening.  So  you  will  never  sleep 
again.  I  do  not  know  just  what  it  will  be.  But  some 
thing.  And  you  will  know  it  when  it  comes.  And 
then  you  will  understand  why  I  am  calm.  Why  I  am 
not  worried  by  delay.  Why  I  am  not  defeated  by 
postponements.  Why  all  the  big  things  that  seem  to 
be  against  me  do  not  seem  to  worry  the  one  little  thing 
that  is  for  me.  Why  my  faith  maintains  itself  against 
your  property.  Why  my  soul  maintains  itself  against 
injustice.  Why  I  am  willing  to  say  words  that  are 
thought  personally  unkind  for  the  sake  of  a  result  that 
is  universally  sweet.  Why  I  look  in  your  face  and  see 
you  long  before  you  are  able  to  see  yourself.  Why 
you  with  all  your  fortified  rights  doubt  and  despair. 
Why  I  without  any  right  at  all  am  cheerful  and  confi 
dent.  Why  you  tremble  when  one  little  man  with  one 
little  voice  asks  you  a  question.  Why  I  do  not  trem- 

186 


YOU  WILL  SAY  IT  TO  YOURSELF 

ble  with  all  the  states  and  churches  and  political  econo 
mies  at  my  heels. 

Do  you  think  I  am  only  saying  words 
for  myself  ?  I  am  saying  words  for  you.  I  shall  say 
words  for  you  until  you  say  them  for  yourself.  Then 
I  shall  cease.  Now  I  am  necessary  to  you.  When 
you  recognize  yourself  for  what  you  are  rather  than  for 
what  you  think  you  are  I  will  become  unnecessary. 
Until  then  you  may  expect  to  meet  me  anywhere.  At 
all  sorts  of  unpropitiating  junctures.  When  you  collect 
your  rents  you  will  meet  me.  You  will  meet  me  when 
you  absorb  powers  or  properties  that  belong  to  others. 
When  you  pay  wages.  When  you  take  and  spend  the 
profits  you  think  you  own.  When  you  visit  morgues 
and  survey  your  dead.  When  you  think  you  may  look 
without  guilt  into  the  starved  faces  of  children.  What 
ever  you  do  while  rights  and  wrongs  remain  as  they 
are  you  will  meet  me.  I  will  not  come  to  say  evil 
things.  Hard  things.  Things  to  maim  you.  But 
true  things.  Things  that  but  for  me  would  go  unsaid. 
That  but  for  some  other  me — do  you  think  I  am  the 
only  me  ? — would  go  unsaid.  You  will  not  live  an 
.hour  without  finding  me  lurking  somewhere  in  it.  Or 
dream  a  dream.  I  am  not  a  shadow.  I  am  a  light. 
But  the  light  is  too  much  for  you.  Too  much  for  you 
as  long  as  it  comes  to  you  from  another.  But  the  light 
after  a  bit  will  come  to  you  from  yourself.  Then  it 
will  no  longer  be  too  much  for  you.  This  is  the  thing 
you  leave  me  to  say  for  you.  The  thing  I  do  say  for 

187 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

you.  The  thing  I  will  forever  say  for  you.  Yet  you, 
too,  have  an  appointment  with  justice.  It  seems  to  be 
farther  off  than  mine.  But  you  have  it.  And  you  will 
keep  the  appointment.  I  say  it  to  you,  O  beloved. 
You  will  yet  say  it  to  yourself. 


The  simple  man,  the  man  you  meet 

every  day  and  every  where, 
A  drop  in  the  stream  that  passes  by 

your  door, 
The  anonymous  sap  of  the  earthtree 

announcing  fruit, 
Lost  in  the  mingling  all,  averaged  in 

the  human  lump, 
Creator  creating  yet  never  imprinting 

his  song. 

18$ 


AND  IT  ALL  AMOUNTS 
TO  THIS 


My  brother,  this  is  beautiful  for  us  to  know : 

It  is  beautiful  to  know  that  nothing  is  finally  wrong  with  the  world, 

It  is  beautiful  to  know  that  love  may  be  out  of  place  in  the  world  but  that 

it  always  has  a  place  in  the  world, 

It  is  beautiful  to  know  that  the  false  things  have  a  true  place  in  the  world, 
It  is  beautiful  to  know  that  the  cruel  things  have  a  kind  place  in  the  world, 
It  is  beautiful  to  know  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  however  bad  but  it 

has  a  good  place  in  the  world, 

It  is  beautiful  to  know  that  even  sorrow  has  a  glad  place  in  the  world: 
O  my  brother,  it  is  beautiful  to  know,  it  is  beautiful  to  know : 
When  everything  goes  back  to  its  place  it  is  beautiful  to  know. 


189 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

AND  IT  ALL  And  it  all  amounts  to  this.  That  the 
A  MO  UNTS  world  is  self  deceived.  Has  thought  its 
TO  THIS  problems  settled.  Has  dreamed  that  its 

villainy  is  justice.  The  world  is  rubbing  its  eyes.  Soon  it 
will  be  awake.  Then  the  churches  will  have  less  to  say  for 
themselves.  Then  the  schools  will  have  less  to  say  for  them 
selves.  Then  the  benefactors  and  the  endowers  will  have 
less  to  say  for  themselves.  This  world  has  been  so  well  done 
it  has  got  burned.  It  has  been  so  virtuous  it  has  lost  all  the 
habits  of  virtue.  It  has  been  so  just  it  has  missed  the  per 
spective  of  justice.  The  world  will  tell  you  it  is  all  right. 
The  priests  will  tell  you  the  world  is  all  right.  The  poli 
ticians  will  tell  you  the  world  is  all  right.  The  moneymak 
ers  will  tell  you  the  world  is  all  right.  Even  the  money- 
losers,  the  rejected  workmen  of  this  world,  will  tell  you  the 
world  is  all  right.  Everything  will  tell  you  the  world  is 
all  right.  Yet  the  world  questions  itself  again.  Goes  on 
suspecting  it  is  wrong.  Dreams.  Nightmares.  Shivers  in 
cold  sweats.  It  is  so  certain.  Yet  it  is  not  certain  at  all. 
It  is  so  happy.  Yet  it  weeps.  Everything  is  at  peace. 
Yet  it  has  armies  and  navies  to  bear  witness  to  peace.  It 
believes  in  the  sacredness  of  life.  A  nd  then  it  destroys  life 
to  show  how  true  it  may  be  to  its  own  creed.  The  world  is 
its  own  victim.  It  has  seized  the  loose  horn  of  its  own  di 
lemma.  It  has  said  the  little  things  in  a  loud  voice  and  the 
big  things  in  a  whisper.  This  world  has  had  its  say  about 
itself.  It  has  never  been  modest  in  the  proclamation  of  its 
own  genius.  Meanwhile  men  have  fought  and  starved. 
This  is  a  world  of  jobs.  One  job  bids  against  another.  One 

190 


AND  IT  ALL  AMOUNTS  TO  THIS 

job  is  quoted  against  another.  For  this  world  is  not  a  world 
of  souls.  The  soul  stands  by  the  job  hat  in  hand  asking  its 
favor.  The  world  has  talked  enough  about  its  property. 
About  its  physical  prowess.  It  has  talked  until  the  soul  is 
sick  of  talk.  We  know  what  the  world  can  do  for  the  body. 
For  the  belly.  For  the  classes.  For  society.  For  greatness. 
But  we  do  not  know  what  the  world  can  do  for  the  soul. 
It  has  denied  the  soul.  It  accepts  the  dirt.  For  creature 
returns.  All  this  time  the  soul  has  waited \  waited,  waited. 
It  has  been  patient.  It  has  uttered  no  complaint.  It  has 
waited  for  its  time  to  come.  I  declare  that  now  its  time  has 
come. 

Do  not  be  too  sure  of  your  haughty  civilization.  Do 
not  think  that  things  are  too  big  to  be  resisted.  Civilization 
is  master  sophistry.  Nothing  is  big  but  the  soul.  Profit  is 
not  big.  Nor  wages.  Nor  the  landlord 's  rent.  Nor  the 
interest  of  the  money  lender.  You  count  these  in  millions  and 
you  say  they  are  big.  Of  all  things  in  the  universe  these 
are  smallest.  The  meanest  quibble  of  a  penny  virtue  is  worth 
more  than  all  your  millions  of  stolen  vice.  You  are  so  enor 
mous.  You  are  so  enormous  you  bulge  out  at  all  sides  with 
adulterous  fat.  Civilization  with  its  glutton  cheeks  and 
thick  neck  asks  me  to  crawl  on  the  ground  saying  it  my 
humblest  prayer.  But  I  do  not  find  civilization  attractive. 
Civilization  would  be  all  right  if  its  liabilities  were  not 
greater  than  its  assets.  If  we  judged  it  by  its  assets  alone 
we  would  do  it  reverence.  But  when  the  bills  are  all 
charged  up  civilization  is  obliged  to  go  into  bankruptcy.  It 
is  not  without  capital.  But  its  substance  has  been  squan- 

191 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

dered.  Some  of  its  partners  have  betrayed  it.  It  has 
missed  its  connection  with  social  justice.  It  has  gone  along 
supposing  that  it  might  have  a  rich  man  made  rich  by  the 
poverty  of  the  poor.  That  the  poverty  of  the  poor  would 
make  no  difference.  That  it  was  not  the  business  of  civili 
zation  to  take  care  of  all  but  to  express  preferences  and  hu 
mors  and  do  erratically  what  it  pleased  with  the  individual. 
Whims.  Flatteries.  Luck.  Anything  but  law.  Any 
thing  but  the  universal  solvent.  Civilization  has  lived  out 
its  competitive  life.  It  has  paid  the  full  price  of  competition. 
The  barbarous  price.  It  goes  to  bed  at  night  to  dream  itself 
into  elysium.  It  wakes  up  in  the  morning  in  the  gutter. 

Is 

this  thing  that  we  see  the  best  thing  that  civilization  can  offer 
for  itself?  Has  it  no  better  collateral  than  the  collateral  of 
theft?  We  ask  civilization:  Who  is  your  master?  And 
civilization  shows  us  its  rentrolls.  It  shows  us  the  I  owe 
yous  of  the  borrowers.  It  brings  us  tables  of  interest.  It 
submits  to  us  the  profit  records  of  the  stores.  Such  things 
are  our  masters,  says  civilization.  It  shows  us  men  who 
write  any  thing  for  pay.  It  shows  us  artists  who  will  paint 
any  picture  for  pay.  It  shows  us  a  man  who  will  make 
any  kind  of  a  shoe  for  pay.  Pay,  says  civilization ;  pay 
is  my  master.  Women  sell  their  bodies  for  money,  says  civ 
ilization.  Women,  says  civilization,  are  my  collateral. 
Men  buy  souls  for  money,  says  civilization.  Men,  says 
civilization,  are  my  collateral.  The  children  go  from  their 
cradles  to  the  factory,  says  civilization.  The  children,  says 
civilization,  are  my  collateral.  They  who  do  nothing  have 

192 


AND  IT  ALL  AMOUNTS  TO  THIS 

the  most  ease,  says  civilization.  The  donothings,  says  civi 
lization^  are  my  collateral.  I  work  men  to  death,  says  civi 
lization ,  and  women ,  and  often  children  :  and  these,  repeats 
civilization,  these  are  my  collateral.  O  yes  !  says  civiliza 
tion  :  Japan  and  Russia  are  at  war.  Japan  and  Russia, 
says  civilization ,  are  my  collateral.  I  am  a  big  affair,  says 
civilization  :  I  needed  a  lot  of  room  for  myself,  so  justice  had 
to  go,  says  civilization.  Room,  says  civilization,  is  my  col 
lateral.  It  is  true,  says  civilization,  that  all  men  are  at 
loggerheads  with  all  men.  But  that,  says  civilization,  log 
gerheads,  says  civilization,  is  my  collateral.  Toll  gates,  says 
civilization.  Starvation,  says  civilization.  Men  who  hate 
their  work,  says  civilization.  Luxury  and  squalor,  says 
civilization.  Women  the  slaves  of  men,  says  civilization. 
Men  the  slaves  of  masters,  says  civilization.  Children  the 
slaves  of  the  slaves  of  slaves,  says  civilization.  Factories. 
Stores.  Chaingangs.  Imperialism.  Official  tyranny  and 
corruption.  Jails.  Says  civilization.  All  these,  says  civ 
ilization,  and  more  than  these,  and  worse  than  these,  the 
hells  below  hells,  these,  these,  says  civilization,  are  my  col 
lateral. 

A  re  we  to  stop  here  ?  Is  this  the  end  of  the  journey  ? 
Is  the  starved  child  the  end  of  the  journey  ?  Is  all  this 
wreckage  the  end  of  the  journey  ?  Is  hate,  rancor,  fight,  the 
end  of  the  journey  ?  Is  thievery  the  end  of  the  journey  ? 
Are  sleepless  nights  and  sleepy  days  the  end  of  the  journey  ? 
Is  man  the  enemy  the  end  of  the  journey  ?  A  re  we  to  stop 
here  ?  Stop  with  social  wrong  ?  Stop  just  where  we  are  ? 
Disappear  in  this  trench  ?  Cut  down  in  the  fury  of  sco 
rn 


CHANTS  COMMUNAL 

nomic  assault  ?  Is  this  where  and  how  the  journey  is  to 
end  ?  Is  this  to  be  the  best  the  dream  of  justice  can  do  for 
man  ?  God,  no  !  This  is  but  a  beginning.  This  is  a  bad 
end  making  way  for  a  good  beginning.  This  is  the  moment 
of  the  lapse  of  eras  of  force  in  eras  of  love.  This  is  the 
bridgeroad.  This  is  the  mysterious  archway  of  the  rainbow. 
This  is  a  juncture  of  promise  and  fulfilment.  This  is  the 
darkest  shadow  meeting  the  brightest  light.  And  it  all 
amounts  to  this.  The  worst  comes  before  the  best  comes.  A  nd 
it  all  amounts  to  this. 


This  is  the  moment  of  the  lapse  of  eras 
of  force  in  eras  of  lo<ve, 

This  is  the  bridgeroad,  this  is  the  mys 
terious  archway  of  the  rainbow, 

This  is  the  darkest  shadow  meeting  the 
brightest  light : 

The  worst  comes  before  the  best  comes. 

194 


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STANDARD     EDITIONS     of     THE 
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THREE    IMPORTANT   VOLUMES 

THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  AMERICAN  NEGRO 

(iSth  thousand) 
By  BOOKER  T.  WASHINGTON 

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the  work  is  devoted  to  the  expression  of  the  author's  theories 
as  to  what  will  better  their  condition ;  and  he  explains  fully 
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tion  as  exemplified  in  his  school  at  Tuskegee. 
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NO  MATTER  WHAT  THE  RESULT  MAY  BE. 


By  Horace 

No  matter  what  the  result  may  be  I 
shall  be  satisfied  with  the  result.  I  sit 
ilown  on  the  day  before  election  and 
cast  up  accounts  with  myself.  I  see 
that  elections  may  go  against  parties 
and  candidates.  But  I  also  see  that 
elections  can  never  go  against  the  soul. 
Whatever  shadow  happens  In  the  ballot 
box  the  great  light  continues*  to  shine. 
The  supreme  idea  is  always  supreme. 
The  idea  of  justice  is  always  supreme. 
Supreme  over  defeat.  Supreme  over 
disaster.  Supreme  over  treachery.  Su 
preme  over  money.  Yes,  supreme  even 
over  victory.  And  our  fight  is  for  the 
great  idea.  I  never  acknowledge  de 
feat.  I  may  feel  the  lash  but  I  do  not 
Mcknowledge  defeat.  Ihere  is  a  result 
beyond  results.  1  am  playing  for  the 
last  result.  1  know  where  I  am  going 
find  where  1  ain  bound  to  go  and  I  am  j 
.not  worried  by  what  occurs  on  the  ' 
way.  When  the  soul  has  once  seen  the 
light  it  never  again  can  falter.  Some 
times  it  thinks  it  has  seen  the  light. 
Sometimes  it  has  received  faint  im 
pressions  of  the  exultant 'ideal.  Men 
are  sometimes  half  convinced.  And  as 
long  as  tlie  soul  is  on;y  part-assured  it 
m.iy  tremble  and  apologize  and  be 
driven  bad;.  But  when  Iliqj  soul  has 
r'H-rived  the  Isist  ooniirmntiom;  of  faith 
it  no  longer  admits  any  doubt  of  its 
final  conquests.  A  IVv,-  voters  for  or 
asrainst  do  not  confuse  the  vista.  I 
would  know  what  to  do  with  victory 
il  victory  should  come  to-morrow.  And 
1  would  know  what  to  do  with  defeat 
If  defeat  should  come  to-morrow..  I 
can  go  on  and  1  ran  wait.  The  Im 
mensity  of  the  opposing  force  does  not 
overawe  me.  It  is  rather  an  inspira 
tion  than  a  discouragement.  I  know 
(iA;it  nothing  is  KO  big  as  justice.  And 
know  11"  r  nothing  can  in  the  end 


Traubel. 

tice,  but  love,  never  falls  short.  I  let 
the  statisticians  worry  over  and 
argue  about  the  result.  There  is  some 
thing  in  SMrVhlch  denies  the  testi 
mony  of  figures.  Do  you  think  an 
election  conclusive?  Is  defeat  concm* 
sive?  Is  even  victory  conclusive?  No. 
No.  The  ideal  alone  is  conclusive.  No 
man  without  an  ideal  can  understand 
an  election.  No  man  standing  half  in 
the  light  and  half  in  the  shadow  can 
tell  you  the  meaning  of  the  day  and 
the  night.  Before  the  soul  knows  what 
to  do  with  shipwreck  It  must  know 
something  about  the  port  it  sails  for. 
The  world  is  touched  with  sadness. 
How  should  I  dare  smile  in  a  world  so 
largely  given  over  to  grief?  I  see  to 
the  glad  result.  That  is  why.  1  see 
that  I  may  find  cause  for  sorrow  but 
I  do  not  see,  where  I  should  find  cause 
for  despair.  How  could  I  surrender 
with  that  great  light  shining  in  my 
face?  Should  the  shadow  of  adversity 
eclipse  my  abundant  and  immortal 
joy?  I.  too,  take  the  humble  instrr  '* 
ment  in  my  hand.  The  little  slip  5 
paper.  And  I  humbly  say  my  humb 
say  with  the  crowd.  My  voice  mingh-o 
with  the  many  voices.  But  that  thing 
which  I  meant  to  happen  does  not 
happen.  Am  I  licked?  If  what  I  want 
to  do  is  an  affair,  finally  of  ballots  ami 
laws  then  I  am  licked.  But  if  it  is 
filially  an  affair  of  justice  and  the  soul 
then  I  am  only  postponed.  And  I  do 
not  conclude  that  the  fault  is  the  fault 
of,  the  opposition.  The  fault  Is  my 
fault.  There  is  work  to  be  done.  I 
have  not  yet  done  the  work.  As  long 
as  a  single  man  goes  unconvinced  I 
have  not  done  the  work.  There  is  some 
defect  in  me  which  accounts  for  the 
delay.  For  with  justice  on  my  side 
everything  is  on  my  side.  My  reason 
is  not  reason  enough.  My  light  is  not- 
light  enough.  I  know  that  if  I  am  bfe 


